


Reunions So Bittersweet

by Annaelle



Series: Bittersweet [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 96,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PART III - Storybrooke is no longer an unachievable goal-but nothing turns out the way it was supposed to. Will Killian find his daughter and be able to exact his revenge? Will he and Emma be able to deal with their growing feelings for each other? RATED M FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS.<br/>Part III in the Bittersweet trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Killian**

When he awoke, his dizziness and disorientation reached unknown levels. Before, he had always been able to identify where he was—the floor, the bed, even chained to the wall on one occasion—but for once,  he seemed to be somewhere he had not yet been before.

Though slight fear was lingering in the back of his mind, he refused to let it take hold of him—he needed to know where the others were. Where Cora was—where Emma was.

Emma.

Gods. There was another _complication_ —he had no idea how to respond to her anymore; and it seemed she shared his reluctance to discuss whatever had happened in the cell.

He swallowed—she wouldn’t have left him, would she? He was well aware that she wished to be reunited with her son more than anything; but would she go as far as to betray him? Leave him?

He did not understand the ache the mere idea caused—nor did he want to; True Love’s kiss or not; if she had betrayed him…

He would make her regret it.

And much as he wanted to be understanding and caring for her plight, it was as though the thought of her betrayal—even though he had no concrete evidence that she had left him—struck all over again, ripping its claws deep into him and leaving scars deeper than even Milah’s death and Penelope’s disappearance  had left.

He attempted to focus—tried to get an idea of his surroundings; but all he could hear was complete and utter silence. And for the first time, the silence scared him greatly.   
His memories were... Foggy, to say the least. He had difficulties with pinning down voices and faces—he simply was not sure _what_ had transpired after he had lost consciousness.

The events before he passed out were… strangely foggy too.

He strained his mind, attempting desperately to recall what exactly had caused him to end up on the flat of his back in the middle of nowhere, but came up empty-handed.   
He didn’t have a bloody clue—his best guess was that Cora had thrown some sort of curse at him—she had been rather cross to find out he preferred Emma’s company over hers—but he found himself desperately hoping Emma was safe.

No matter the thoughts of betrayal that were still searing through him, the thought of Emma being hurt or in danger or even—he nearly choked at the thought—dead tore into him in a way that made him feel incapable of recovering from.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to alleviate the dizziness and the pounding in his head that haunted him.

Laying on the ground was not going to help him figure out what was going on—he needed to get up and find out where the bloody hell he was; and then where the bloody crocodile was.

He let out a deep breath, gathered all his courage and blinked.

Once. Twice.

Slowly, his surroundings came into focus, though the throbbing in his head and the stinging in his jaw made it hard to focus on anything. He was surrounded by thick oak trees, and he briefly wondered how far from Lake Nostos he was, exactly. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but the woods felt eerily familiar, somehow.  

Snapping from his thoughts, he focused on his surroundings again. In front of his, a large tree had fallen on the leaf-covered forest floor. The silence that hung in the forest seemed unnatural, and fear settled once again in the pit of his stomach. Soft light seeped through the roof of the woods, making the forest look almost magical. 

He swallowed and sat up, wincing when a sharp pain erupted from his left shoulder—bloody hell. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t dislocated his shoulder; it was a pain to pop it back in on his own.   
Moving slowly, he managed to shed his shirt and vest to expose his shoulder, so he could gingerly run his fingers over the injury—he groaned and cursed under his breath when his fingers hit the small bump at the back of his shoulder, noting in the dim light that his skin was starting to discolour—blue, black and purple were fighting their way onto his bruised skin.

“Damn it,” he groaned, unsteadily getting to his feet, “I hate this.”

He winced again as he leaned forward, relaxing the muscles in his left arm, slowly rotating his shoulder, gritting his teeth at the strain that grew as he continued twisting his shoulder, hoping the bloody thing would pop in already, so he could figure out where the hell he was.

Usually, rotating would work—it hurt like hell and it sure as hell wasn’t a reliable way—but it was the best he could do, since he was still on his own in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Just when he was about to give up, his shoulder cracked loudly as the joint popped back in—he couldn’t suppress the loud cry that fell from his lips, nor could he stop his knees from buckling at the sheer intensity of the pain for a few seconds.

He gritted his teeth, but withstood the waves of pain, ignoring the lesser ache that now occupied his bruised shoulder as he shrugged his clothes back into place, stumbling to his feet, and examining his surroundings once again.

He really didn’t know where he was, or how he got there in the first place—and it terrified him slightly.

The woods seemed to be never-ending in whichever direction he looked; which was not an improvement to his already sour mood.

Being an experienced pirate, he would easily be able to navigate his way anywhere—if only he could see the sky clearly; but it seemed he would have to stumble through these woods until he found a clearing or a road that would lead him… Well, somewhere.

He sighed once again and tried to remember how he managed to get knocked out—but the last thing he remembers is running to Lake Nostos with Emma, hoping Snow and the others would still be there, and if so, out of Cora’s claws.

After that, it almost feels as though everything had been erased, leaving nothing but a big, black, blank space in his mind.

It’s odd—like nothing he has ever encountered or heard of in his three hundred years of life, and it’s enough to scare the living crap out of him—what if he’d never catch up with Emma?

He grew nauseous at the mere thought of never getting to explore what he might or not feel for the blonde, beautiful, infuriating little imp of a woman—and as terrifying as the thought of loving someone else again was, it was the only thing he could think of to keep going.

Not because he needed to avenge Milah and skin his crocodile, not because he needed to find Penelope, but because he _needed_ to find Emma—he knew it was horrible to think he needed Emma more than he needed his daughter, but after believing for so long that he was too late to find her, it felt almost as though he had given up on ever finding her alive.

As much as the possibility of finding his sweet Penelope in Storybrooke was what kept him going most of the time, even though he was quite fearful to actually believe it to be a viable possibility, the need to find Emma was stronger—something he couldn’t fight, nor truly wanted to fight.

With a deep, disgruntled sigh, he started walking, trudging through the woods, holding his left arm stiffly against his torso, thanking the Gods for not injuring his good arm—or hand—growling at the fact that he still didn’t know where he was—or where he was heading, for that record—and that he had no idea how long it would take to find out where he was.

He walked for what felt like hours, the light—that was already dimmed through the thick leaf roof—slowly diminishing more and more with every step he took.

And quite suddenly, the trees ended, and he found himself in the middle of a road, startled slightly by the sudden appearance of what appeared to be some kind of hardened road, leading over a hill—where he could see lots of lights—a town.

Thank the Gods.

He looked around once again, looking for a clue—any clue at all—that might prepare him for the kind of town he was about to walk into.

His eye fell upon some large green sign, placed neatly on a thick, red, painted line that lead across the road—an enigma he did not have the time to contemplate. His gaze travelled over the large, white lettering on the sign, and an involuntary smile spread across his lips.

STORYBROOKE.

He’d made it.

They had made it.

He was in Emma’s realm—he was no less clueless about _how_ he had ended up here, but the fact that he was, in fact, there was enough for him to rejoice.

Now he needed to find his Swan girl and her mother.

Or his crocodile.

Preferably not both at the same time—he knew Emma did not approve of his plans to kill Rumpelstiltskin—so he’d rather do it without her knowledge.

He was broken from his thoughts quite abruptly and suddenly, by a loud hooting sound that made him jump—and he only just managed to look up into two bright, yellow lights, before something hit him with incredible speed, sending him flying—he didn’t even think about containing his cry of pain as he felt multiple bones snap at the collision, nor when he landed hard on the road with a sickening smack, his head bouncing against the stone.

 _Emma_ , he thought, before everything starting darkening, his consciousness slipping away faster than he could comprehend.

“Emma,” he breathed, unable to keep his eyes open anymore. He thought of nothing more when he felt as though cold enveloped him like a thick blanket when he finally closed his eyes and wheezed out the deep breath he’d been holding.

And then all went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Emma**

_“Emma!” She didn’t slow down, her heart thrumming in her chest—she wasn’t ready for what he undoubtedly wanted to discuss. She couldn’t be ready._

_It was ridiculous._

_Life didn’t work like this—there was no magical love-at-first-sight, and if you let someone get too close, all they did was leave; break her heart. She didn’t see a single reason why Kil—_ Hook! Damn it, Emma. _She cursed herself,_ call him Hook! _Why Hook would be any different than any of the other men she had ever met._

_“Damn it, Swan,” she tried not to smirk at the frustration that leaked into his voice, “Wait!” Ignoring him proved impossible—he latched his hook around her wrist and yanked her back, spinning her straight into his embrace._

_She winced at how good it felt to be held by him—it freaked her the fuck out; she couldn’t feel like this for him; they’d known each other for what? Less than two days?_

_It was just not possible._

_“What, Hook?” she spat, throwing his arms off of her. She couldn’t handle the intimacy; it was just too much, too soon. He frowned, clearly not at all pleased by her tone. “Easy, Swan. I just—we need to talk about—” She clapped her hand over his mouth and shook her head._

_“No. No, we don’t. It’s not—” she hesitated, “It can’t be true. We don’t even know each other—it can’t be love if you don’t know someone.” She could see his eyes softening, unexpected emotions filling those cerulean eyes as he slowly pulled her hand from his lips. She watched—slightly fearful of just how much that look in his eyes made her feel—as he gently pressed a kiss to her palm before lowering her hand, taking a slow, deliberate step closer to her._

_“Look, lass,” he began, “I did not ask for this anymore than you did—and it freaks me out as much as it does you; but…” he sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. She gave in; just for a moment, and held him, allowing herself to feel, knowing that he was right._

_They were both scared and freaked out by what had happened in the cell, and it wouldn’t help anyone if she kept pulling away from him._

_“We have something,” she whispered, “I’m not blind; I know it’s there—I just…” She dropped her gaze to her shoes, unable to keep looking at him—she loathed the idea of feeling this weak in front of him. He chuckled softly, and she felt his hands cup her cheeks lightly, forcing her to look up at him._

_“Love,” he whispered, “Please, look at me.”_

_The pleading in his voice was what finally convinced her that he was not in any way repulsed by her weakness, now or earlier—and she trusted him not to take advantage of it. She needed to believe she could trust him._

_And so, she took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his warm gaze. “I shall not hurt you,” he whispered, “will you not believe me?” Her heart was pounding in her ears—she was not sure why, but he made her stomach do crazy flip-flops every time he smiled._

_There was something so honest, so real in his eyes, that she could not do anything but believe him, even if her head was screaming at her not to listen to him. She did not completely trust her vocal abilities, so she simply nodded._

_His answering smile was so radiant, she could feel her own lips curl up into a sly smile—without actually occasion or reason to smile. Without doing anything, he made her smile. It baffled her—it had been such a long time since she had any reason to genuinely smile._

_The moment was too much—she could not handle such intimacy with anyone just yet. She trusted too easily before—if the past had taught her anything, it was that no one could be trusted. Even the most honorable men would be seduced to the darker side of life if given the right opportunities._

_And Hook was not exactly the most honorable man she had ever met. If anything, he would probably already be on the dark side. She bit her lip and swallowed thickly. “I’m not ready for this,” she whispered. “Can we—can we focus on other things?”_

_His gaze was stormy and dark and betrayed his own conflicted emotions on the matter. She tried not to think too much of the swirling emotions he invoked within her and focused on the things she could control—things that did not frighten the living daylights out of her._

_Like finding out Captain Hook was her True Love._

_She needed to get home—she needed to make sure Cora would never get to Storybrooke. She just didn’t have a clue as to how she should do that._

_As though he could read her mind, Hook’s soft tones rang through the clearing. “You should not worry so much. We will find a way to stop Cora. Your family will be safe.”_

_Though she heard his words—she purposefully chose to ignore them. She did not need his confirmation, nor his comfort at this point in time. She needed a plan—a carefully thought-over plan of action._

_She needed an assurance to her future—a future she knew was on shaky foundations to say the least._

_She jumped when he leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. “A man unwilling to fight for what he has, deserves what he gets, lass.” She pulled back to look at him, uncertain what he was getting at._

_“What do you mean?”_

_He smiled. “I’ll get you home—and I will let this—us—go, for now. But love—” he stepped back, only holding her hand now, “I’m never going to stop fighting for you.”_

_._

_._

_._

Emma was woken early the next morning by an incessant buzzing against her right cheek. She growled in protest _—_ it was beyond cruel to wake a sheriff at the crack of dawn when she just got back from some cursed fairytale land after fighting a deranged witch and losing her favourite pirate somewhere along the way! She was worried sick about Hook—he hadn’t come through the portal with her and Snow and she had no idea where he was.

She sat up with another groan and answered her phone without checking Caller ID.

“What?” She spat, not in the mood for any sort of pleasantries _—_ it was too early for pleasantries. “Good morning to you too,” Whale replied, his voice cooler than it usually was.

She rolled her eyes.

God, that man was just too easily offended.

She really couldn’t remember why she put up with him at this hour. “It’s early, Whale, I’m exhausted. I don’t particularly like early right now. What’s up?” She sighed, leaning back into her pillow and kicking the sheets from her body as she spoke.

“We just got a John Doe in—he was involved in a hit-and-run near the town line.” She groaned and sat up slowly. “And you need me, because?”

She heard his heavy sigh and straightened instantly—her sixth sense for trouble instantly spiked—and demanded, “Whale. Why the hell do you need me?” He sighed again and whispered, “Because Regina mentioned that you said one of your friends went missing when you came back through the portal. A pirate.”

Her blood froze in her veins at the implication. “No—” she breathed, “Did he—is he—?”

Whale spoke calmly and softly, only grating on her nerves further. “Maybe you should just come to the hospital so you can ID him.” She swallowed back the panic that was steady taking hold of her and replied, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hung up and stared at her phone for a full twenty seconds, unable to believe what she knew had just happened.

She prayed that it wasn’t him—she didn’t want it to be him; she couldn’t stand the idea of him being too hurt to tell people who he was.

The thought physically hurt her.

She jumped from her bed and ran around her room, snatching her jeans from the floor and pulling them on, jumping on one leg as she tried to get her shoes on while buttoning her jeans and pulling her coat on, sprinting through the apartment.

She was frenzied, she knew that, and she realized it would probably her killed—if she drove while feeling like this, she was bound to cause another car crash and end up in the hospital herself.

She forced herself to calm down; she needed to be rational and calm—if Hook really had been hit by a car, he’d need her to be calm—so she could help him, so she could...

Could...

She shivered and shook her head.

No.

She needed to get  there first—for all she knew, it wasn’t him.

She closed her eyes, her hand resting on the doorknob.

 _Please,_ she begged, _Please don’t let it be him. Please, let him be okay._

.

.

.

Emma felt like the floor had been beaten from underneath her feet. Whale hadn’t offered her any kind of details when he called—no simple ‘he’s going to be okay’—what if he wasn’t okay? What if their first kiss had been their last?

What if she lost her True Love before it ever got the chance to grow? She tried to blink away the tears that were suddenly burning in her eyes and swallowed. What if she lost him just like she lost Graham? What if she never got to tell him that she did, in fact, love him already, even if it scared the crap out of her?

She pulled up in the parking lot of the hospital, almost not taking the time to yank her keys from the contact before she sprinted inside, slamming her hands down on the counter, startling the nurse sitting behind it.

“Oh, Sheriff Swan. What are you doing here?” She forced herself to swallow and breathe in before she said, “Doctor Whale called me—the John Doe that was brought in? He was involved in a hit and run. I need to—I need to ID and question him.”

“Oh,” her face fell slightly, “I don’t think you’ll be able to question him, sheriff,” she said gently. Emma’s heart seemed to stutter at her careful words, and she nearly choked as she whispered, “Is he—how is he?”

She bit her lip. “He was in critical condition when he was brought in. All I know is that his heart stopped twice while in transport and that he is in surgery now.”

Emma felt her breathing constrict and her eyes fill up with tears. “Did he—did he have a missing left hand?” She prayed for the answer to be ‘no’, for Hook to be okay, to be somewhere far, far away, but completely healthy.

The nurse’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she whispered, “Yes. You know him?”

And then her knees gave away, her breath knocked from her lungs as she fell to the floor, tears running down her cheeks—knowing that Hook; _her_ pirate, her annoying, selfish, son-of-a-bastard pirate was laying somewhere in this hospital, fighting for his life—she just couldn’t ...

She needed him; she needed his stupid, smug, sarcastic, inappropriate remarks to make her smile when things were getting too serious. She’d known him for less than a week and she needed him like she needed the air to breathe—and now that she was so close to losing him, she couldn’t remember how to breathe.

She wasn’t sure how she was ushered to one of the chairs in the waiting room, nor how long she was there.

All she knew was that suddenly, Whale stood before her, his expression grim. She stumbled to her feet, well-aware that she looked horrible—tears streaking her cheeks, her eyes red and swollen and her hair all mussed from being pulled from her bed so suddenly—but ignored how he raised a questioning eyebrow and demanded, “How is he? Is he okay? Please, Whale... Tell me he’s going to be okay.”

Whale took a deep breath and began, his voice void of all emotion, ‘We managed to stabilize him—‘ she interrupted him, jumping forward as she exclaimed, “So... That means he’s going to be fine, right? He’ll be okay?”

Whale stuttered for a moment, before he regained his composure. “Emma, who is he?” She sighed. “Killian Jones.” He looked confused so she muttered, “Otherwise known as Captain Hook.”

Before he could say anything to that, she grabbed his arm and growled, “Now tell me how he is.”

“He’s ... He slipped in a coma. He’s stable, but we don’t know if he’ll wake up.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and choked, “You mean, _when_ , don’t you? When he’ll wake up?”

Her voice was shaking as she stared at him, her eyes swimming with tears again, pleading him to tell her she was right. Tell her that Killian would be okay. He shook his head, his eyes filling with compassion. “I’m sorry, Emma. I meant what I said. We don’t know _if_ he’ll wake up. We just don’t know.”

A choked sob passed her lips as she stumbled back to the chair, her legs giving out.

No. No. NO!

She winced, her hand pressing on her chest, where her heart had been located. Emma couldn’t remember how to breathe and it sucked—she couldn’t remember the last time she cared about someone so much that it hurt her like this.

 _So that’s what it feels like_ , she mused, _to have your heart ripped out._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Snow**

Snow bit her lip and looked at Ruby questioningly, unsure of what to do. She had seen something between Emma and Hook back in the Enchanted Forest, but Emma’s response to Hook’s accident was not something anyone had foreseen.

Nineteen days ago, she and Charming had been awoken by Henry, who told them Emma wasn’t in her room, and her car keys were gone too.

Eventually, after an appropriate freak-out, she and Henry had left for school while Charming and Ruby went looking for Emma—she hadn’t been exactly pleased with the arrangement, but Charming had argued that Emma was capable of taking care of herself—and someone needed to be with Henry, so they could tell him when Emma turned up again.

They’d eventually found her at the hospital, where she had apparently fallen asleep holding Hook’s hand.

Since that day, whenever Emma went missing, they all knew she was either with Hook—who had yet to wake up from his coma—or at the station, attempting to hunt down the man—or woman—that had hit Hook and didn’t even have the decency to stop to call an ambulance.

They’d all been strangely affected by Hook’s non-improving condition—though Snow had been the only one other than Emma and Regina—and Gold, but Emma refused to say more about that—to know him, Henry seemed as affected by the accident as Emma.

It had Snow worried, to say the least.

She was worried sick for Emma, who seemed to run herself ragged, trying to track down the driver and be there for her son and sit by Hook’s bed as long as she could, and Snow didn’t know how to comfort her daughter.

None of them had ever seen Emma this distraught before—not even when Henry had been put under a sleeping curse.

Ruby’s soft cough brought her back to the present, and Snow groaned softly, glancing over her shoulder at her daughter, who was staring out of the window, her mug of hot cocoa untouched in front of her.

“How do I help her?” she moaned, burying her face in her hands, desperately wishing her best friend would have a solution to the mystery that was the relationship between her daughter and the currently very unconscious Captain Hook.

Ruby shook her head and stole a glance at Emma herself. “I don’t know,” she muttered softly, “I really don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone this... Upset before. It’s like—” she hesitated, and Snow looked up, desperate for anything, literally  _anything_  that might shed some light upon the situation.

“It’s like what?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

Ruby sighed and ran a hand through her long, dark locks. “It’s like she’s not really there. It’s like she’s missing something—I kind of got that vibe when you two just came back from the Enchanted Forest too.”

Snow groaned. “I can’t believe my daughter has a thing for Captain Hook—it’s just… Ewe.” Ruby smirked and winked at her. “Oh, come on, Snow. He  _is_  hot—you know it, I know it and most importantly; Emma knows it.”

Snow rolled her eyes—she hated it when Ruby pointed out things like that. It made her uncomfortable to think of other men like that—Charming was more than enough for her, and she loved only him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize a handsome man when she saw one. And as much as she hated it, she was well aware of Hook apparent good looks.

“Okay, he is, but Emma’s not that kind of girl—she doesn’t just…” She hesitated and glanced at Emma once again. “She never really struck me like the kind of person to let someone in as easily as she seems to have done with him.”

Ruby shrugged. “Maybe that’s because she was always  _meant to_  let him in. You and I both know it’s damn well near impossible to fight it.” Snow blanched at that—her daughter and … Hook… True Love?

No. No, that was insane.

Her eyes wandered and locked on Emma once again.

Wasn’t it?

She tried to recall the moment she first sensed something had changed between Emma and the pirate, and frowned slightly when she realized Emma and Hook had looked pretty taken with each other from the very second Hook admitted who he really was.

And even more so when they caught up with them at Lake Nostos. She frowned at the memory of their flushed cheeks and dishevelled appearances—back then, she had assumed it had been because they had been running to catch up with them; but now she couldn’t help but wonder if there had been another reason for their appearance.

.

.

.

 _“Snow!”_  

_She stopped when the shout reached her, turning to see her daughter and Hook running to catch up with her, Mulan and Aurora. The worry that had curled up into a ball in the pit of her stomach seemed to absolve somewhat at the sight of her daughter, and she smiled._

_“Emma! You’re back! Did you find it?”_

_She noticed the swift, short glance her daughter exchanged with the pirate before she shook her head and ran a hand through her blonde, messy hair. “No—Cora locked us in a cell before we found it. When we finally managed to get out, we didn’t have time to look for it anymore.”_

_Snow nodded slowly, her eyes glued on Hook—the pirate seemed … Different, somehow. The way he was looking at Emma made her feel like she had missed something really important.  
He looked at her … He looked at her the way she hadn’t seen many men look at a woman before. His expression was filled with a slight tinge of awe, longing and pride—and it scared Snow._

_Her daughter deserved much better than a low-life pirate; and she was sure Emma knew that._

_She remembered the almost complete conversation Emma and Hook seemed to have with one glance and winced._

_She did know that—didn’t she?_

_She was roused from her thoughts by said low-life pirate, who frowned at her. “She did not find you, did she? She said she would take the compass from you and then kill you when she left us—when we broke out, we came as fast as we could.”_

_Snow shook her head, the ball of worry slipping right back into her body, her heart clenching. “No—we’ve run into suspiciously little trouble, now that I think of it. You don’t think she followed you, do you?”_

_Again, Emma and Hook looked at each other, conversing without words—that was really starting to unnerve her—before Emma shook her head. “No… I don’t really think she expected us to escape. Like ever.”_

_She sighed and glanced over her shoulder, to where Mulan and Aurora had retreated in the woods. “Well, we don’t have much to go on from here on, do we? Didn’t the giant say there were no more beans? All we have is the compass.”_

_Before she was even finished, Emma’s eyes grew wide, her lips parting as she gasped, her hand finding its way onto Hook’s arm—Snow didn’t really think Emma was really aware of the way she gripped his arm. “Oh my God,” Emma breathed._

_“The giant.” She turned to Hook, who frowned at her, and repeated, “The giant! He had a dried, shrivelled up bean!” Snow didn’t really get where Emma was going with this, but apparently, Hook had no problem following her daughter’s line of thoughts. “Of course,” he breathed, “Why didn’t we think of that before?”_

_“What are we going to do with a dead bean?” Snow interrupted, slightly annoyed by being out of the loop—she didn’t really understand this sudden bond between the pirate and her daughter, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it. She didn’t trust that man—he had been working with Cora, and she had seen no reason to believe he wouldn’t turn on them._

_Hook rolled his eyes at her, making her want to slap that smug smirk of his face. “Milady, these waters you spoke of—Lake Nostos—they have regenerative powers, don’t they? A dried up bean dipped in those waters—”_

_“—will still be able to create a portal,” Snow sighed in comprehension._

_Of course._

_They were right._

_They needed to go back to the beanstalk._

_A frown rippled her forehead as she considered one little detail—or maybe not so little—, “Will the giant give it to you?”_

_Emma dropped her gaze to her shoes as she muttered, “Well, I never really did cash in the second favour he owed me. I suppose I could try convince him.”_

_Snow opened her mouth to protest, but Hook’s soft tones dumbfounded her before she could. ‘Emma, love,’ he said, using his hook to gently tip her chin up, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go back? He did say he didn’t want us to return.”_

_Emma pushed his hook away and glared at the both of them—Snow tried not flinch under her daughter’s gaze—and spat, “We need that bean. Of course it’s not a good idea to go back—but we have to.”_

_Snow could see the very moment Hook gave into Emma’s demands—it was almost as though he slumped slightly, leaning into Emma; and Snow really didn’t think either of them were aware of it.  
“Fine,” he growled at Emma, “Have it your way—but if that giant kills me, lass; I am never talking to you again.”_

_Snow could see Emma trying to suppress a smile and found her annoyance with the flirty pirate rise. ‘He would do us all a favour if he killed you,’ she muttered, ignoring the dark look Hook shot her._

_“Fine,” she continued, keeping her eyes trained on Emma. “Go back and get the bean—the sooner we’re out of here the better. I’ll set up camp in the woods with Mulan and Aurora.”_

_Emma nodded. “Okay.” She turned to Hook and said, “Let’s go—if we leave now, we can probably be there by noon.”_

_Snow pulled Emma into a hug, trying to ignore the urge on insisting to accompany them—she knew she’d be useless once there; Emma and Hook were the only ones who could climb that damn beanstalk._

_Nevertheless, she pulled Emma away from the pirate for a moment. “Emma, be careful, okay? I still don’t trust him,” she whispered, throwing a nod at the pirate. Emma sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Look, Snow… Mom—” Snow’s heart seemed to leap when Emma called her ‘mom’, “He’s not going to betray us—trust me. He won’t. I’ve got a pretty—” she hesitated, “_ convincing _motivation for him to be on our side, and not hers.”_

_Though she was still thoroughly unconvinced, she nodded and smiled at Emma, watching her daughter walk back to Hook, turning back once to wave before they headed in the opposite direction, where they could only just see the tip of the beanstalk emerge from above the trees._

_Snow bit her lip._

_There was something there—Hook and Emma were too close; and all she could do about it was rely on her daughter’s common sense._

_Somehow, that thought didn’t comfort her._

.

.

.

Snow winced at the memory and shook her head slightly. “No—no, he told Emma his True Love died; that he lost his hand shortly after that and that made him completely switch to the dark side. She can’t be his True Love.”

Ruby frowned at her, and Snow knew her argument was weak, but she needed to hold onto it—her daughter deserved a prince—not a pirate. “Well, whatever she feels for Hook; I know it’s killing her to see him like this,” Ruby sighed, rinsing an empty beer glass, “but she sits with him anyway.”

Snow watched as Emma got up from her booth and left the diner, leaving the cup of cocoa sitting untouched on the table. She found herself wishing Hook would improve—wake up;  _anything_ ; anything to make Emma feel better.

She turned back to Ruby and bit her lip. “How is he? Did Victor tell you anything new?”

Ruby shook her head. “Nope. He stuck to what he said before; several broken ribs, shattered knee-caps, broken wrist, severe internal bleeding, a pretty bad concussion and two heart arrests; it’s going to be pretty bad, no matter what happens. Whoever hit him did a pretty damn thorough job. Honestly, it’s not looking good.”

Snow sighed. “Whoever hit him better pray Emma doesn’t get her hands on him when Charming’s not with her—I’ve never seen her this angry before; I don’t know what she’ll do.”

She knew how true that statement was, and it terrified her; she was always against revenge quests and bloodshed, and now her own daughter seemed to be out for blood.

For a man Snow didn’t even fully trust before; a man that had more blood on his hands than any mortal should.

.

.

.

**Emma**

Emma yawned deeply as she settled in the chair next to Killian’s bed, trying to avoid looking at him—looking at him made it so  _real_.

So terrifying.

She hated looking at him in the hospital bed; he looked so small, so fragile in it, and she absolutely loathed how broken he looked. She would kill the person who did this to him—she’d make them regret the day they decided to get a driver’s licence; and if that wasn’t enough, she was sure she’d think of a rather creative way to make them hurt for what they did to  _her_  pirate.

Finally, she managed to gather her courage and raised her gaze to the man that lay unconscious still, on the bed. She tried to suppress the sob that fell from her lips as her eyes fell upon his black and purple bruised skin, the cast that covered his wrist and hand, the heart monitor clipped to his finger, the bandages that covered his chest, peeking from underneath the hospital gown, the IV stuck to his left arm—ironically the only part of his body that seemed to have been spared by the car—,the oxygen mask that covered most of his face and the cast she knew rested underneath the sheets; both his kneecaps had been shattered by the impact, and Whale told her there might be a chance he wouldn’t be able to fix them.

That had sent her straight into another anxiety attack—she simply refused to believe he wouldn’t wake up, no matter how pessimistic she usually was. He was a fairy tale character; they  _always_  got their Happy Endings—Killian would too; preferably by her side.

The only thing that appeased her slightly was the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He had been taken off the ventilator yesterday, and for one, scary, long moment, it had seemed as though he would simply stop breathing, before his lungs had sprung into motion.

She smiled weakly at that.

Even in a coma, the man managed to make her roll her eyes at him.

Stupid pirate.

She leaned up rested her hand on his stump softly, stroking the surprisingly soft skin there—ever mindful of the IV—as she wished for the millionth time for some kind of twitch or sigh from him; but there was nothing.

His chest Emma and fell with even, deep breaths, but he responded to none of her touches—it was more than disheartening.

She watched him for long moments, breathing in when Killian did, keeping an eye on the heart monitor. Somehow, the steady beep was oddly reassuring. She stroked a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead and smiled softly.

Even now, covered in cuts and bruises, he was too handsome for his own good.

She didn't turn around when she heard the door click. Instead, she waited as Mary Margret—Snow—Mom—walked around the bed to the other chair by his bed, and sat down in it.

“Any change?” She said softly.

Emma bit her lip, not taking her eyes from the pirate, and shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

Snow sighed and the room was silent for a long moment, apart from the steady beep of the heart monitor, as Emma waited for her mother to spit out why she was here. She’d been expecting this kind of questioning days ago, but both her parents and Henry had been oddly and uncharacteristically quiet about her—in their eyes—sudden concern for the pirate’s life.

“Why are you still here, Emma?”

She closed her eyes in desperation and sighed.

Ah.

There it was.

The only downside of having a family—constant concern and questions.

“I just need to make sure he’s okay,” she croaked, her throat dry and raw. Snow sighed and ran a hand through her short hair, something Emma had never seen her do before. “Emma, there’s something going on here—you’re barely home; you haven’t been eating and when’s the last time you slept? I’m worried about you. We all are.”

Emma looked down at Killian’s relaxed face again and smiled sadly. “Did we ever tell you how we got out of that cell Cora locked us in?”

Snow responded negatively and Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Of course they hadn’t.

They’d barely spoken of it to each other, much less to anyone else.

But she needed to tell someone; she felt as though she would burst if the words wouldn’t be spoken out loud.

“Cora cursed the cell,” she began slowly, her fingers still tenderly stroking the soft skin of his scarred stump, “So we would never be able to get out. After a while, we realized she had cursed it to slowly grow colder too. It was freezing in there.”

Snow made a confused noise, and Emma looked up with a slight frown. “But then… How did you get out? If the cell was cursed—there’s only one way to break a curse…” Emma watched as understanding dawned in Snow’s eyes, smiling slightly at her expression.

“He kissed you.”

Emma shrugged. “I’m not really sure who started it—I just know that the curse broke, so we ran to get to you first. We knew we had the advantage; Cora never expected us to escape.”

Snow frowned, not too happy with this new revelation. “So your kiss broke the curse—and you’re still here, with him because—”

Emma cut her off with a growl, not at all appreciative of the tone in her voice. “I’m here because I love him—and I never got to tell him that. And I’ll be damned if the first thing he hears isn’t me telling him that I do love him—no matter how terrifying it is.”

She expected Snow to retort angrily, fight her on it, but it seemed she was distracted by something else entirely. An increase in beeping from the heart monitor drew her attention back to the man in the hospital bed, her True Love, who was blinking up at her with bloodshot, watery blue eyes.

“Killian?” she breathed, unable to fight the smile from her lips, as she leaned closer to him, her hand resting on his arm gently. She barely registered Snow running from the room to go look for Whale, all of her attention focused on him.

She noted he seemed rather disturbed by the oxygen mask and helped him take it off slowly, careful not to jostle him, her touch gentle and excited at the same time.

He was awake.

He came back to her.

“Where am I?” he coughed, his voice hoarse, his face scrunching up in pain. She winced when he coughed again—she remembered how much that hurt with broken ribs—and met his gaze dead-on when he finally looked at her again.

“Again, love… Where am I? And—” He choked for a moment, before every bit of her hope shattered when he whispered, “Who are you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Emma**

Emma had stumbled back to her chair once doctor Whale and four or five nurses had stormed in and gathered around Killian’s bed, hiding him from her wide, tearful gaze. His previous words echoed through her mind, again and again, breaking her heart a little bit more every single time.

_Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?_

She knew it wasn’t his fault—logically, she was well aware that his concussion could have caused memory loss—but even with all the logic in the world, she couldn’t stop it from hurting more than she had ever thought she could hurt.

The question he asked next though, had hit her heart and shattered it completely. His blue eyes had swam with confusion as he looked around the room before meeting her eyes and muttering, “What is this place? Where are we? Where’s Milah?”

She swallowed thickly and shook off the memory of the look of desperation and adoration she had seen in his eyes when he spoke of Milah—the mere thought of him only ever loving someone else hurt more than she had anticipated.

“Emma?”

She lifted her gaze to meet her mother’s, who instantly saw something was wrong, and enveloped her in a hug she didn’t even know she needed. “Come on, honey,” Snow coached, “Let’s go outside for a minute, give them the space to examine him.”

Numbly, she allowed Snow to pull her to her feet and out of the room.

“What happened, Emma?” Snow questioned, the concern in her voice palpable, “What did he do?” Emma winced and opened her mouth to reply, but the only sound that fell from her lips was a strangled sob—she was instantly comforted when her mother hugged her tightly, allowing her to cry—cry for everything she had been suppressing for days, weeks, years now.

She broke completely—unable to suppress all the hurt and pain anymore; it all came pouring out, leaving her a broken, sobbing mess in her mother’s arms.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Snow cooed, “it’s going to be okay. It’ll all work out.”

Emma had no idea how long she and Snow stood there, in the middle of the hallway, embracing while she cried. After a long, long while, she managed to calm down, extracting herself from Snow’s embrace slowly.

“What happened, Em?” She whispered, “What did he say after I left?”

Emma swallowed and glanced back towards the door. “He doesn’t remember,” she whispered, “he doesn’t remember me. He only remembers Milah.”

Snow’s eyes widened in horror and her lips parted slightly. “Oh God… Emma,” she muttered, pulling her daughter in another hug, “He’ll be okay. It’s probably temporary—he hit his head pretty hard according to Whale. It’s going to be okay, sweetie.”

Emma tried to feel the same eternal optimism as her mother, but it abandoned her for the moment—Killian’s amnesia had punctured that hopeful bubble she had holed up in for the past three weeks and shattered her heart; if he didn’t remember—if he would only ever remember Milah…

 She couldn’t handle that thought.

“What if he …” she choked, “What if he won’t remember me?” Snow smiled sadly and stroked her cheek gently. “Then he’ll fall in love with you all over again. True Love always finds a way, Emma. Look at me and your father—we managed to find each other in the middle of a curse. Killian stayed alive long enough so he could meet you, fall for you… That’s fate, Emma. I might not be fond of him, but … if he makes he makes you smile, if he makes you happy… then why would I not be happy for you? I believe that he’ll be okay. That you both will be okay. He needs you to believe right now, Emma.”

She stroked a curl from Emma’s forehead and added, “He’s in a whole new world—he’s going to need you.” Emma could see the logic in her mother’s words, and she knew—and heard—that Snow truly believed it too, but it was so hard to keep believing that things could somehow be okay.

Her entire life, she had been abandoned, people had given up on her and she just didn’t know how to believe anymore. Whale saved her from having to respond when he exited the room, his expression somewhere between relief and worry.

“And?” she demanded, nearly falling over her own feet in her haste to get to him. He sighed and said, “Well, he seems to be okay; his ribs and wrist are healing nicely—he’ll need surgery on his knees though.” She could hear the doubt in his voice and it pissed her off—she wanted to know everything; she _needed_ to know how he was. “And? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Whale looked down and didn’t look up at her as he said, “Often, with these kinds of injuries, patients seem better and healing before they relapse—I don’t know if Hook is one of them, but you have to know there’s a possibility he might deteriorate very suddenly.”

The news was mind-boggling—Killian couldn’t die; she needed him to be okay, so he could annoy her, make her roll her eyes, flirt with her so much it made her want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. Emma bit her lip and frowned. “And the amnesia?”

Whale shrugged. “There’s still some swelling on his brain—as soon as it subsides, his memories should be fine.”

Emma heard the doubt in his voice—it made her stomach churn—and asked, “But?”

He sighed. “But… There’s a possibility that his memory loss is psychological of nature, in which case it might be a lot harder, if not impossible for him to regain them.” She suppressed the urge to break down at the response once again and nodded. “What can we do to help him?”

Whale sighed again, his expression weary. “He needs to be in someone’s company constantly—he’s going to be in here for a while, and seeing as he does not remember coming to this realm, he’ll need someone who does know. I suggest you stay with him for now, Sheriff. He seemed to be more comfortable with you in the room.”

Emma winced. “But—Henry—I—” Snow laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “It’s okay, Emma. I’ll explain it to Henry and Charming. Stay with him.”

Slowly, seeing arguing would be useless—adding to that she really didn’t want to leave—she nodded, her eyes zeroing in on his door.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

.

.

.

**Killian**

Every single inch of his body _hurt_.

He could not even move without hurting—and according to the wanker that was in here earlier, claiming to be a doctor, he would not be able to for a long, long time. It also seemed he had lost part of his memory.

He could not even comprehend what that meant—but he gathered that he had ended up in another realm, and was known for his desire to murder the Dark One in revenge of his hand.

If he so chose to believe, of course.

It all seemed rather odd and far-fetched. And then there was the blonde woman—the one who had so passionately declared her love for him over his bed. It quite amused him; surely, she had not been the first maiden to pledge her love to him; but still… It was what she had said before that—he had not been quite conscious yet, but he could hear what was said.

And what was said greatly disturbed him.

Of course, there had been women to claim he was their True Love, but he had never fallen for the ruse; he had always been certain that Milah was it for him—and he still believed it, did he not?

Of course he did, he scolded himself.

There was no proof to what the blonde had said—even if he had supposedly kissed her and broke a curse while doing it; which he still didn’t quite believe, mind you; he had naught to go on but her word. And that just would not do.

He would never betray Milah like that—he loved _Milah_ , and Milah was his True Love. Of that, he was certain.

Unfortunately, his esteemed doctor had not been able to inform him of where his love might be—all he got from the man was that Swan; the Doc had called the blonde Sheriff Swan; had been sitting by his bed for the past three weeks. Killian could not quite refute that kind of devotion, uncomfortable as it made him; and he could not deny that he did feel more comfortable with her in the room.

He was quite certain, even, that, though he hadn’t actually been able to see it, he could pinpoint the exact moment she had left the room—his stress levels had shot up immediately.   
He contributed it to knowing she supposedly loved him—if she loved him, she would not let these doctors, as they claimed to be, harm him, would she?

The soft click of the door opening and closing drew his attention to her—swirling, forest green held him captive as the woman—Swan, he remembered—stared at him with scrutinizing intensity. And he found himself apologizing before he knew what he was doing—apologizing for not knowing what she apparently so desperately wanted him to know.

When she smiled sadly and shook her head, telling him it was okay, he was struck, for the first time, by just how beautiful she was. Her beautiful face was framed by long golden waves of shiny, healthy hair, her lips pink and glistening.

He  found himself entranced. Simply entranced by a girl he had just called beautiful. He hadn’t ever called anyone but Milah beautiful, and he had no idea why he had changed that now. Of course, she _was_ , but it disturbed him—perhaps he was a little bit too affected by this woman’s claim of True Love.

Softly chewing his lower lip, attempting to push the desire she invoked away, he opened his mouth to apologize again, when she shook her head slightly. “Killian, please. Stop apologizing,” she said, “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault but the driver’s—and I will find that man and murder him for what he did to you,” she added, a dark, evil gleam shining in her deep blue eyes.

It didn’t really disturb him—that darkness. In fact, he found it disturbingly . . . Sexy.

“I still feel obliged to apologize though,” he said, immediately turning on his charm, “I feel as though I am forgetting something that means the world to you—and I would never wish to hurt someone as beautiful as you.” For some, unreasonable, inexplicable reason, he did find it best not to admit he had overheard her talking about the True Love’s kiss. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he added, quickly glancing up and down her body, as though he could see emotional pain depicted somewhere on her body,  before he got side-tracked by her curves—curves that were truly in all the right places.

And again, he found himself far more attracted to her than he should be—he was only to love Milah; not this lass, no matter what she claimed they were meant to be.

She bit her lip and looked away from him, and even before she said it, he knew her words were nothing but a lie. “No,” she muttered, “No, of course you didn’t.”

He ignored the blatant lie and nodded. “Alright then. Perhaps you can tell me where Milah is, love. It seems I have some quarrel with the Dark One and I would hate for her to get caught in the crossfire.” He saw her eyes widen and deep, unconcealed hurt bloom in them—he winced—as she sighed deeply and pulled a chair up to the bed, before nearly slumping into it.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” she whispered, and he frowned at the expression of genuine concern that formed on her face. “Killian, I only know part of the tale, and—” she winced, “—it’s not a happy tale. It’s… It’s horrible.”

Her tone frightened him—as did her insinuations—but he nodded. He wanted this piece of his past; and he wanted to see his love—he wanted to see Milah.

Swan took a deep breath and nodded, almost to herself, before starting. “I only know what you told me,” she spoke softly, “and it is not much. You and your crew, including Milah, docked in a small port, nearly a decade after you met her.” She sighed, and he frowned—he remembered three years of life and love with Milah, and to know he would be with her for at least another seven years was a true comfort—proof he needed; he did love Milah truly, of course he did.

“You and your crew went to the local tavern,” she continued, “while Milah and Penelope stayed on board—”

“Wait,” he exclaimed, bewildered by her statement, “Who’s Penelope? Why would I allow another woman onto my ship? One’s already bad luck.”

Poor Swan looked down and bit her lip as she muttered, “Penelope’s … Penelope’s your daughter.”

Of anything she could have said, that was the very last thing he expected—a daughter? He had a daughter? But he was not meant to be a father—he was a pirate; he and Milah lead pirate’s lives—neither of them wished to give up that life; not even for a child.

He felt numb—numb with shock. He could not quite comprehend the thought.

He had a daughter.

“Where are they?” He said slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the thought of having a family. When Swan didn’t immediately respond, he looked up at her again, anger boiling up in his veins. “Where are they, Swan? Where is my family?”

His voice had risen with every word he spoke, and he nearly shouted the final word, not caring how she winced at his tone.

“Milah… Milah was killed,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “by Rumpelstiltskin—the Dark One—when she tried to save you and Penelope.”

With those three words, Killian's world came crashing down. His body went numb and he felt lightheaded. His heart pounded against his chest and he felt a sharp pain shoot through his torso. “What?” he breathed, unable to fully comprehend what she was saying—it couldn’t be. He had seen Milah mere hours before; she was fine.

She had to be.

“I'm sorry, Killian,” Swan sobbed softly. “I know you have so much to think about already, but you deserved to know.”

The annoying beeping noise, that he’d been able to filter out so far, grew louder and increased the frequency of the beeping. He couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t focus on anything but that she had to be wrong; he _needed_ Milah, he loved her.

He couldn’t be without her.

“Killian?” came Swan's voice in a worried tone. He tried to breathe carefully, still not fully comprehending how the world had not ended, and choked, “Penelope, my daughter—” he tried to regulate his breathing and failed miserably, “Where is she? Is she—” He choked, unable to actually voice the thought—even though he knew he had only known about her for five minutes, he loved her to pieces already.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, silent tears sliding down her cheeks—why the bloody hell was she crying? His world was the one that had been ripped apart—, “and neither do you. You came here looking for her, or your revenge for your family—we met in the Enchanted Forest, where we teamed up and tried to find our way back to my world; this world. You hoped she had somehow survived the passing centuries, and that you would find her.”

That snapped him from his dark thoughts.

“Centuries?” he choked. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Killian. You never told me. I assumed it had something to do with your time in Neverland, but I never got the chance to ask.”

Silence fell, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by Swan’s presence—he needed her to leave; he needed to think; needed to be alone, away from her hold on him.

“Leave,” he said, not looking at her, trying not to break down. When she didn’t respond, he looked up, and yelled, “LEAVE! GO! I don’t want you here! Leave!” Hurt, anger, grief and sorrow were coursing through him in a dizzying pace and he simply couldn’t stand being near the girl who claimed his heart belonged to her, even though he knew for sure it was Milah’s—as it always would be.

Finally, Swan stumbled to her feet and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered when she reached the door, “I’m so sorry.”

And with those words, she left, leaving him with nothing but overwhelming grief.

.

.

.

**Emma**

She stumbled down Main Street, having left the hospital as fast as she could. She didn’t want to think about how much it had hurt to see the light in Killian’s eyes dim when she told him what had happened to his family—she recognized the overwhelming pain and grief he had undoubtedly felt, and it tore into her like nothing she had ever felt before.

She didn’t want to think about how it had torn into her when he told her, screamed at her, to leave him alone—when he yelled at her that he didn’t want her there.

It terrified her—it terrified her that, no matter how high and thick her walls were, he always seemed to slip right past them, his grip on her heart growing with each passing day—which left her to Killian’s mercy.

He could destroy her with a single word, if he so desired.

Just thinking of the implications of that particular predicament gave her a stinging headache, and all of a sudden, she felt exhaustion wash over her in deep, strong waves.   
Tears pricked in her eyes and she felt truly vulnerable for a moment—and she hated every second of it. She was not weak—tears were signs of weakness.

She should not cry.

Almost in a daze, she stumbled up the stairs to her apartment, fighting the desire to run to her mother—she had never known the desire to have her mother hug her and tell her it would be alright before, but she did now, and as much as she didn’t want to give into it, she knew that Snow was going to be the only one she would be able to trust enough.

Before she managed to get the key into the lock, the door swung open, revealing Charming—and Emma broke. She couldn’t hold it together anymore.

She was so _tired_ of being strong all the time.

Her legs suddenly felt too shaky and weak to hold her weight, and her knees buckled as she cried. Her breakdown earlier, with Snow, was nothing compared this one—Killian’s angry, broken voice was stuck on repeat in her head, as though it was mocking her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing loudly and uncontrollably, no longer aware of her father, who had kneeled before her, and was gently trying to console her—to no avail. Killian’s words had been too much—too much to handle, too much to shrug off, too overwhelmingly painful to pretend it didn’t affect her. 

She just _couldn’t_ anymore; she couldn’t be the strong, tough, able-to-handle-anything savior everyone expected her to be.

She felt _so_ lost, and broken and alone.

Even when Charming wrapped his arms around her, lifting her gently, carrying her inside, she couldn’t shake the  feeling of being completely and utterly alone—the only person who had ever understood how she felt now hated her; he hated her for telling him he had lost his family three hundred years ago.

Finally, after Charming had rocked her in his arms for nearly two hours, Snow standing a bit to the side, looking pained to see their daughter so sad, Emma managed to slow down her breathing, her sobbing reduced to small whimpers, tears still running undiluted down her cheeks.

“He hates me,” she whimpered, tears running down her cheeks uninterrupted, “he hates me.”

At that, Snow whimpered in sympathy and fell to her knees next to her and Charming, stroking her hair gently. “Of course he doesn’t hate you, sweetheart,” she said gently, “he’s overwhelmed. He’s in a new world and doesn’t remember anything—he’s just scared.”

Emma shook her head, her lower lip still trembling, “I told him what happened to Milah and Penelope—he hates me for it.”

She didn’t see the glance Snow and Charming exchanged, nor the determination settling in Snow’s gaze. ‘It’s going to be okay, Emma,’ she whispered, “You should give him the time to process—get some sleep, honey. I’m sure he’ll come around tomorrow. You need to rest.”

Emma wanted to argue with her—she wanted to tell them I was stronger than they were giving her credit for. But as Snow spoke, she could feel her eyelids drooping low already, slowly drifting off into sleep, using Charming’s chest—that was extremely comfortable—as a pillow.

Maybe Snow was right. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep for an hour or so.

Yeah. Just an hour.

.

.

.

**Snow**

She watched as her husband tenderly tucked Emma in bed, his fingers lingering on her cheek. She was worried for her daughter—she’d never seen Emma’s hard, cold stoic mask break before; not even with Graham’s death or Henry’s near-death.

Sure, there had been sadness, and pain—but never once had she broken down so completely. She sighed heavily as Charming pulled her into his arms, and allowed herself a few moments in his arms, smiling slightly at the strength it provided her. “Look after her, okay?” she whispered, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Charming muttered softly. “He will be off as bad as she was—on top of that, he doesn’t know who you are.”

Snow smiled softly and stroked his cheek. “Exactly. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to tell a nameless stranger than to tell someone you know. He just lost his family all over again. He needs to vent. And he can’t do that with Emma. I’ll be okay.”

She pressed one, gentle kiss to his lips before turning and leaving the apartment. Worry and nerves gnawed at her in the pit of her stomach as she walked—she could tell Charming whatever she wanted, but she had no idea what she would find when she got to the hospital.

She just hated the idea of Emma losing faith in love completely—if Hook really was her True Love, she wanted to make sure he would be okay too; Emma was too fragile right now to look him in the eye, but she didn’t have that problem. She could handle whatever he would throw at her, and she would, because she knew just how much it hurt to believe you had everything you ever wanted one minute, only to have it ripped away the next.

She could relate to him, and she could listen to him without judging him, and she had the feeling that was what he would need right now.

Someone to sympathize with him.

She strode into the hospital with purpose, not allowing anyone to distract her from her goal—she was here to help her daughter and the man she loved, even if he didn’t remember he loved her back. Snow wasn’t sure when she’d started to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but the more she thought about the things that had taken place in the Enchanted Forest, the clearer it became to her that Hook was, indeed, very much in love with her daughter, even if the both of them refused to recognize it.

Especially after the fight at the Lake.

.

.

.

**_Killian_ **

_He cursed under his breath when he saw Cora—his eyes widening in horror and slight panic when he saw Emma surrounded by at least a dozen two-headed deadly snakes. He locked his eyes on her grey ones, and was impressed—she hardly wavered at all. “Give me Emma,” he growled, pushing down his temper once again as the woman made no move to get him his Swan back._

_“Give me the bean and the compass,” she responded tightly, as though she were repressing her rage just as much as he was, “And we can all be on our way.” He nearly laughed at the thought._

_Snow opened her mouth to protest, but Killian laughed and shrugged. “You want to come to Storybrooke? Our compass? Our bean? Fine. You can have them. After you give me Emma back.”_

_He nearly growled in pure rage when the witch threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, my dear Captain,” she smirked, “It’s not going to be that easy. Why would I give you the Savior? She stands in my way, doesn’t she? I should kill her. Or untie her and let her fight her way through an entire army of deadly creatures.”_

_He grinned. “Don’t test her—she’ll surprise you. Now why don’t you give her back before I decide to take a page out of your book and rip your heart out?”_

_Cora laughed heartily and shook her head. “My dear, you cannot—you should know that.” He smiled and winked at her. “Oh, but I do know that—but while you would be distracted with my hook in your chest, dear Snow White here could show you another page of your own book—how did you put it again?” He tapped his chin playfully, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. “Oh, right. Off with your head. Powerful as you may be, you are not immortal, and I am rather inclined to believe that would kill you—or slow you down, at least.”_

_He ignored Snow_ _—who was trying to negotiate peace on his behalf—and kept his gaze trained steadily on the woman who had Emma. He wanted to rip her heart out—but he knew he couldn’t and he didn’t know what would happen to the snakes if he did—and he did not want to take the risk._

_The witch narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest in defiance. “Now why would I go and give up my best leverage? You might attempt to kill me anyway.”_

_Killian smirked. “You know what, you’re right—I might. Give me Emma. And I promise—I’ll let you and whatever mutts you’ve brought to fight us off live.”_

_She growled. “What makes you think you would even be able to fight me off, dear? You of all should know what I am capable off.”_

_Killian laughed_ _—and once again, ignored Snow—and rolled his eyes. “Aye, that I do.” He smirked, “And do you know the downside of me knowing those things, your majesty?” He narrowed his eyes at her and spat, “I know what you aren’t capable of too.”_

_“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” she smirked, “sailor.” Killian raised an eyebrow and focused all his attention on the witch that was blocking his way to his love._

_She whistled on her fingers, the angry, harsh sound lingering long in Killian’s ears, and suddenly, the ground vibrated underneath his feet—he exchanged a worried glance with Snow and the other two._

_Werewolves appeared seemingly out of nowhere, surrounding them—every one of them armed and ready for the kill. Behind them, hidden slightly in the tree line, stood at least nine ogres._

_Bloody hell. This was not good._

_“Let’s try this again,” Cora demanded, “Give me what I want.” Ironically, Snow looked over to Killian for… For what, exactly? Permission? Confirmation?_

_He didn’t give a flying fuck about the bean and the compass. He just needed to get Emma out of there. “Well?” he growled, indifferently, trying to distract himself from Emma’s cries, “You heard her. Go. Give her what she wants.” Mulan—who’d clearly been following his train of thoughts—smirked and hastened to oblige—which would’ve made Killian scoff, had he not been in such a precarious position._

_He needed to distract—he needed to keep the focus on him, so Emma wouldn’t be in any immediate danger. So Mulan could get close enough. “Wow,” he laughed, “Nice trick. Do they always come running when mommy whistles for them?” Cora merely glared at him._

_Killian swallowed and glanced to Snow. “We can take them,” he smirked. Snow raised an eyebrow and studied the werewolves. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” she replied. Killian groaned and turned back the wolves. “Well then,” he sighed, his sight zeroing in on the witch bitch, “That sounds… Confident.”_

_The woman smirked at him—his anger Emma another level._

_She wanted a fight?_

_Fine._

_He was going to give her a fight._

_He drew his sword and smirked at Cora. “Go ahead, Majesty—bring it on.”_

_And all hell broke loose._

_A werewolf charged at him. Killian rolled his eyes and stabbed the wolf straight through the heart before he’d even reached him._

_Ugh. Stupid wolves._

_He killed wolves left and right, whirling around to see Snow shoot an arrow straight through a wolf’s throat._

_Woah. Impressive. Very good form indeed._

_He turned again, his eye falling upon the biggest, ugliest wolf in the pack. Killian caught a glimpse of the wolf trying to get to Emma, to rip her to shreds—and his rage intensified in ways he did not even consider possible._

_He saw red._

_That filthy, ugly-ass, dumb wolf had dared to lay a hand on his Emma. The wolf would pay for every single drop of Emma’s blood that had been spilled. He would make him suffer._

_They flew at each other, Killian batting away the claws with ease, before digging his hook in its neck—deep enough to subdue him, but not to kill him. The man feebly attempted to struggle away, but Killian was blood thirsty—pissed off—furious—nothing was going to stop him from murdering the werewolf on the spot._

_He growled into the wolf’s ear and smirked. “You tried to hurt my girl,” he spat, “I will make you regret that.” The wolf whined when he dug his hook a little deeper. “I’m going to enjoy this,” Killian grinned, slowly sinking his hook into the wolf’s skin, tearing into its flesh, causing as much damage as he could with one single move._

_He savored the cries and gasps of pain, enjoying the hot blood dripping down his hand and hook before he carved the wolf’s heart out._

_He dropped the now-lifeless body to the forest floor, getting to enjoy the very satisfying kill for a moment only before steel vices seemed to wrap around him, magic pinning his arms to his sides—pain radiated through him, and he could hardly breathe._

_He fell backwards, grateful that the floor he fell on was soft sand._

_Bloody hell—Cora really couldn’t stand losing, could she?_

_He groaned in pain, attempting desperately to stay conscious, to get up and fight when he saw Cora approach, a dark, evil look gleaming in her eye. He knew that look._

_Not good._

_No._

_He couldn’t die now._

_Emma._

_He needed to save Emma—she needed to be safe first._

_Cora loomed over him, her hand only inches from his chest—but he couldn’t move—the magic kept him pinned down—kept anyone else from reaching him._

_He closed his eyes and sighed._

_This was it._

_He had failed in the one thing he couldn’t fail. Again._

_He had failed to protect the woman he loved… Again. It seemed only fitting that Cora would kill him by crushing his heart. And as he closed his eyes and prepared to meet his end—something hot exploded across the beach, and his eyes shot open as a voice—her voice—rang clearly across the clearing._

_“No!” She cried, “Killian!” Their eyes met for a split-second,  and he nearly exhaled in relief._

_Nearly._

_Cora recovered from the shock first, her arrogance once again making an appearance as she regarded Emma closely. “Oh, you foolish girl,” she hissed—Killian felt the magical bonds that held him captive disappear when Cora moved away from him, towards Emma. “Don’t you know? Love is weakness.”_

_Emma smirked—and Killian felt his blood run cold._

_He knew that smile._

_It was a smile she wore when her cold, sadistic side emerged._

_“Oh no, Cora,” she spat, “Love’s not weakness,” a warm gleam appeared in her eyes as her eyes slid from him to her mother, “It’s strength.” Another explosion of magic pulsed from her, blowing Cora and every single one of her minions back, knocking them all out cold—stunning them all into silence._

_Emma had magic? His eyes were wide and he could barely comprehend what had happened._

_Snow, Mulan and the princess—he forgot her name again—were staring—as was he. He knew Emma well enough to know a blow-up was coming. She did not get furious like this easily—but when she did, one wanted to take cover. Emma was positively lethal when she was angry—add magic to that mix, and ... Well, he preferred the werewolves over angry, magical Emma any day._

_Slowly, he approached her, when it was clear that the others were still too stunned to move. “Emma?” Her eyes snapped back to him, and he nearly winced at how the white of her eyes had spread over her pupils, like a white, filmy layer._

_“Emma, love, she’s gone. It’s okay. We’re safe.” He was slightly wary of touching her, but he needed to get her back before magic would consume her completely. Slowly, he reached for her hand, never taking his eyes off hers. “Emma,” he whispered, “I’m okay—you are—your mother is—we all are. Come back to us.”_

_She wavered slightly, and he swallowed thickly, before taking the biggest risk he had all day—he pulled her into his arms and hugged her, hoping that the familiarity of his embrace would bring her back completely._

_For a long, tense second, she was rigid in his arms, and he feared it didn’t work. And then she sagged in his arms, her own arms wrapping around him. “Come,” he whispered in her ear. “We’re all okay. We still have the bean and the compass—we can go home.” He pushed her back slightly to look at her, wincing at the sight of the many scrapes and scratches marring her skin. “You’re hurt. I need to take care of you.”_

_She looked up at him—he nearly cried in agony at the fear and pain in her blue eyes. “Let me take you home,” he whispered, gathering her up in his arms, smiling faintly as she nuzzled her face in his neck. “Home,” she whispered, her voice laced with thick exhaustion, “Henry.”_

_He smiled and nodded against her hair. “Yes, to Henry.”_

_He carried her back to where her mother stood, watching the pair of them with wide eyes—he ignored the glare she sent him and nodded at her. “Okay, you ready, milady?”_

_Snow nodded slowly. He smiled at her. “Let’s go. To Storybrooke.”_

_._

_._

_._

**Snow**

She sighed at the memory, her hand resting on the door handle. Killian had showed himself truly their ally that day, and she hadn’t forgotten.

Slowly she opened the door, and stepped in, not at all surprised to find Killian wide awake, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, as though he had been crying as much as Emma had. He barely even looked at her as she walked in.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice flat, dull, as though he really didn’t care at all.

She smiled sadly, but remained in the shadows. “I want to help you. I know what happened to you—and I’ll listen. You can yell, scream, curse me, whatever you want—but I’ll listen.” He didn’t give her any sort of indication that he had heard her, but she didn’t expect any either—he was in shock; he was numb, and she knew it would take him a while to snap out of that.

She sat down in the chair Emma had occupied for the past three weeks and smiled gently, even though he hardly looked at her. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me.” They sat in silence for a full ten minutes, before his voice suddenly filled the room. 

Snow smiled.

She knew it—he just needed someone to listen to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Killian**

**_(A few weeks later)_ **

Time crept by slowly in the small hospital room, but Killian could feel his strength return—gradual, and far too slow for his taste—but it was returning. The cast—as Snow had called it—had been removed from his wrist on week ago, and he had been overjoyed at regaining use over his only remaining hand.

He was extremely grateful towards Snow for being there for him—she was the only person he talked too, often, though the Doc came to check in on him often too.

He did believe that Snow was rather unhappy with his continued refusal to see Swan—Emma, as he now knew she was called—not because she disapproved or because it hurt her—though he was rather certain it did, telling Swan over and over to leave—but because it made her worry about him. He was ever so grateful of her helping him, letting him vent and yell and scream at her, but that—worrying about him, as though he were a child—that was one aspect of her personality he did not appreciate whatsoever.

He knew she did not intentionally treat him as though he were a fragile doll, but the fact remained that she _did_ , and it annoyed him to no end. It frustrated him beyond belief—and being cooped up in the tiny room didn’t help whatsoever.

He was no closer to regaining any of his memories, and part of him was grateful for it—and another part _wanted_ those memories, _wanted_ to know what made Swan so desperate to see him, wanted to understand why he longed to see her again—but refused.

He needed to hold on to his love for Milah; it was the only thing that made sense right now. He needed to think of Milah only—not this Emma lass. He needed Milah to be there for him—he needed to hold onto her. He needed his love for Milah to keep him sane.

It was the only thing he had left.

He was roused from his deep thoughts by Snow’s soft voice, “Killian? Are you sure you’ll be okay? I mean, I’m sure Charming and I could stay a while longer, if you wanted me too?” She said sweetly, her smile making him want to agree before she had even finished her sentence.

She had spoken of this weekend with her husband before, and he felt slightly guilty for keeping her away from the man—who he had only met once, briefly—for such extended periods of time. He knew she came to see him after school immediately, and often stayed until very late at night—but he couldn’t help it.

She helped him feel like he wasn’t going insane; and he was bloody terrified about meeting new people—he didn’t even feel remotely emotionally ready to meet new people.

Nonetheless, he plastered a smile onto his face and nodded. “Yes, of course. Please, Snow, I’m a grown man—a pirate—you’re going to ruin my bad ass reputation.”

Snow burst into laughter, and it made him want to smile too, and shook her head. “I think you ruined that reputation when you got bested by a car upon walking into town, Captain Bad-Ass.” She pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag, preparing to leave.

For once though, Killian didn’t mind the solitude her departure would bring—often he would fall into a pit of despair, painful thoughts, memories of his life with Milah, his fantasies about his faceless daughter; he imagined her to look like her mother, but he couldn’t be certain, of course—but today, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

He wanted the chance to think; he needed to think.

She turned once before leaving, smiled gently and whispered, “Goodbye Killian—please think about what I said about Emma.” He managed to keep the smile stuck on his lips until she had disappeared, leaving him to the solitude he craved so desperately right now.

 Moments like these were far too rare—neither Snow, nor the Doc, seemed akin on leaving him to himself. He was aware that Snow merely acted as such out of genuine concern—he did indeed tend to ill-think when he was alone, and he knew it.

Yet, he did not see his darker thoughts as a threat to his health—he deemed them only necessary.

After the trials and tribunals he had endured—even though he might not remember them all—, thoughts such as his were to be expected—and he was certain these thoughts would haunt him forever. Now, more than ever before, he realized how much he missed having a parental figure in his life—his parents had died when he was a boy, and he had ended up on a pirate ship when he was seven.

Snow was the first person in a long time to be that kind of person for him—the kind of person he could rely on; but Snow was related to Emma too—and it was that knowledge—more than any other issue—that drove him to seek solitude whenever he could. It was an overwhelming thought; to know that the one person he had learned to confide in, was also related to someone who claimed to love him.  

It made him… Resentful and angry at times.

He did not ask for any of this—but the cards were dealt in this fashion nonetheless, and there was no changing the world—even if Snow was related to Emma, she was trying to help him, and however much he hated it, he needed all the friends he could get in this strange world.

He wondered often why on earth he had ever decided to come to this world—but then the image of Emma—however much he tried to repel it—would bubble into his mind, and he would, albeit begrudgingly, admit that she had probably been a large factor in his decision.

Whoever he had become in the centuries that had passed after losing his family, he had cared for the blonde—he had gathered that much from what Snow had told him of what she knew—however much the thought of loving anyone but Milah appalled him now.

And that was the main reason he refused to see Emma.

He knew that the man he had been had had strong—very strong—feelings for her; and he knew that she would hope for him to be that man. But he wasn’t; he _wasn’t_ that man, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever be that man again—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

And he knew that would hurt Emma to hear that—so he pushed her away. He hoped she would give up on him; hoped she would realize that he wasn’t the man she supposedly considered her True Love; he hated hurting her, but it seemed like the easiest solution.

He just couldn’t bear seeing her.

She would just need to accept it—he wasn’t the Killian Jones she was in love with; and he never would be.

.

.

.

**Emma**

Emma sighed heavily and rested her forehead on her arms for a moment, willing her body to relax—be less strung than it had been for the past month.

She’d been pouring over these files over and over again, trying _so_ hard to find something that would give that final push she needed to find the person that had hit Killian—based on Killian’s injuries, they’d been able to assume that the car had to be quite damaged too; hence concluding that the car would be in desperate need for repairs. From Hook’s ruined leather clothing, they’d been able to extract samples of the car’s color—metallic deep blue—so she had plenty of clues; she just didn’t have any suspects.

Also, they’d found shattered fragments of a front bumper and shattered glass.

If the situation had been different, she would have suspected Gold immediately—though she still wasn’t convinced he had nothing to do with it—but no one but her and Mary-Margret even knew he was supposed to come through the portal with them.

They still weren’t sure how he ended up on the other side of town.

He still refused to see her, and it cut her to her core; every time she would see Snow emerge from his room, biting her lip nervously, she would know he had told her to leave once again—and even though she didn’t understand, and even though she knew; rationally; that he didn’t hate her, it broke her heart a little further every single time.

She was both relieved and pissed off that Snow had been spending so much time with him, and she hated that feeling more than anything else in the world.

She didn’t want to be jealous of her mother, and she knew she didn’t have to be, but her mother got to do what she so desperately wanted to; she got to see Killian every day, he trusted her, and he talked to her—and there was nothing Emma wanted more right now.

She had no idea how much she had been holding onto the pirate until she lost him completely—so she turned to the only thing she could do to help him; she was trying to find out if Penelope was alive, and if she lived in Storybrooke.

Henry had—in the first week after Killian’s accident—been quite understanding of how distracted she was, and how much time she spent trying to find the mystery that was Killian’s daughter. He had been talking about some girl he met at school, and he liked spending time with her. Emma suspected he had a tiny little crush on this Elena, which made it all the more adorable when he asked if Elena could come after school on Friday, so he could show her the storybook.

Emma had laughed and said it was okay, telling him that Elena’s mom—she had gathered that she was a single mom too—was always welcome too, if she was free. And just like that, she and Henry had both made a new friend in the past month. Elena’s mom worked two jobs to support her daughter and herself, and Emma offered to take Elena so she could take a late shift too.

And so the tradition of Henry and Elena having a sleepover on Friday nights at Emma’s place, then having breakfast together with Alli—Elena’s mom—and Emma at Granny’s and another sleepover at Alli’s place on Saturday night was born. 

Emma was quite relieved to find a new friend, someone of her own age, other than her parents and Red, and loved spending time with Alli, finding that they had a lot in common.   
At first, she had thought it was ridiculous that a beautiful woman like Alli was single, but when Alli told her what had happened to Emma’s father, she understood.

Though she was no less shocked at the revelation.

.

.

.

_Emma grinned at Alli, taking another sip of her wine, relishing in the fact that Snow and Charming had taken both Emma and Henry—they had fallen in love with Elena the second they laid eyes on her—for the night, so she and Alli could have a genuine girl’s night; something Emma hadn’t had in years._

_“So,” she began, “How is it that you are single? I mean,” she waved her hand in Alli’s direction and smirked, “You’re hot. If I swung that way, I’d probably do you.” At that statement, she glanced at her glass of wine and wondered how many of those she had already had._

_Alli laughed and shook her head, biting her lip as her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “I don’t want to be with anyone—my True Love died shortly before the curse was broken… I don’t—I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love anyone else. I can’t believe I never even got to say goodbye to him.”_

_Emma winced and looked away at the mention of True Love. “Who was he? Maybe I knew him.” A bitter laugh fell from Alli’s lips, and Emma looked up, startled. Alli took a healthy swig from her wine before she whispered, “You knew him alright. If I understood correctly, you were kissing him before he died.”_

_Emma felt as though someone slammed the ground away from beneath her feet as she sputtered, “Gra—Graham? Graham was your True Love? But… How?”_

_Alli shrugged. “I locked in a tower when I was a child—I grew up in there, but an enchantment had been placed on the tower, so I couldn’t escape myself.”_

_“Wait,” Emma interrupted, waving her hands wildly, “you mean, locked in a tower—Rapunzel-style?”_

_Alli grinned and saluted her with her wineglass. “That is my fairytale name, I suppose. I mean, I didn’t have ridiculously long hair or anything—I just remained locked in there, on my own for a long time,” a wistful smile appeared on her lips, “until a stray traveler scaled the walls and sought refuge from the storm that raged.” She smiled, her eyes distant, and continued, “I hit him over the head with a vase and tied him up. When he woke up, he explained that he just wanted some shelter from the storm, that he really didn’t mean me any harm.”_

_She sighed, and Emma swore she saw the ghost of a smile flit over Alli’s face, before it disappeared so abruptly, she wondered if she had imagined it. “He told me he was a Huntsman and that he and his wolf had been surprised by the storm. He looked so sweet and trustworthy when talking of the wolf that I untied him, and allowed him to sleep in one of the window seats while waiting for the storm to pass.”_

_Emma frowned. “But then, how did you get out? I mean—oh.” She bit her lip. “He kissed you?”_

_Alli smiled, and there was happiness in her eyes that Emma had never seen before. “He did. When he kissed me, the enchantment that kept me locked in the tower broke, so we ran, and found this tiny little secluded cottage to live. I tried to look for my family, but I couldn’t find them,” sadness fell over her and she shook her head, “They must’ve died while I was locked away. I married him, and we had Elena three years later.”_

_Emma smiled and rubbed her arm. “I’m sure he remembered how much he loved you. He said he remembered, before he—” She winced, now finally realizing why he had thanked her, “He remembered you, and Elena.”_

_Alli’s lower lip trembled, “He did? He really did?”_

_Emma nodded,  feeling her own eyes burn with unshed tears, “He did. And if Regina hadn’t—he would’ve come back to you; I’m sure of it.”_

_She smiled and ran a hand through her thick curls. “Maybe. We’ll never know, will we? But—” she sat up straighter and smiled at Emma, squeezing her hand, “the same goes for you. I’m sure Killian will come back to you. He’s just—he’s just going to need some time.”_

_Emma smiled and glanced down at her lap. “I know. I just wish he’d let me be there for him—as his friend. I don’t need anything from him; I just want to help him get through this.”_

_She didn’t resist as Alli pulled her into a soothing hug._

_“I know, Ems, I know.”_

.

.

.

Emma sighed at the memory and ran a hand through her hair.

She was so tired—she was in desperate need of caffeine, and it wasn’t even six PM yet; the whole situation was turning her into an addict.

Maybe trying to find Penelope on top of everything was a bit too much, but it was the only thing she could do for Killian right now—her investigation was stuck anyway, and she knew that the not-knowing had to be killing him even more than knowing Milah had died.

She just wished she had more to go on—she had no idea how old Penelope would be, what she looked like or even if she was still alive. The only thing she knew was that her name was Penelope Jones; and that was not enough; not by far.

She could look like her father—all beautiful features and stormy blue eyes, raven locks and an air determination that reeled you in—or like her mother…

And at that, Emma paused.

She didn’t have a clue as to what Milah had looked like.

How the hell was she supposed to track someone down if she didn’t know what features she inherited from her parents?

Sure, she knew what Killian looked like—she had spent far too much time staring at him—but for all she knew, Milah could have had blue hair and one red eye and a green one.   
Of course, she knew Killian had way better taste than that, but—well.. She really just didn’t know.

Damn it.

She sighed and got up from her desk abruptly—she was done playing nice with Killian’s demands; he was a grown man for God’s sake, and he could tell her to piss off to her face rather than send her mother every single to do it for him every time.

Besides, if he ever wanted to find Penelope, she was his best shot—she was good at finding people; and everyone knew it.

She pulled her jacket on and grabbed her keys.

Time to make her pirate stop feeling so damn sorry for himself.

.

.

.

**Killian**

He was aimlessly flicking through the channels of the ‘television’—an odd form of amusement in this realm without magic—waiting for some sort of human interaction today.   
Snow was out with Charming for the weekend, and the Doc had rounds—whatever the hell that meant—leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He’d met a cute redhead too—he suspected the Doc was quite sweet on her—when she came to bring them dinner from some tavern named ‘Granny’s’.   
He had come to understand that her name was Ruby, and that she was a wolf—it intrigued him; he’d never met a werewolf before.

At least not that he could remember.

He sighed and stopped flicking through the channels, dropping the remote and attempting to focus on the ‘movie’ that was currently playing. From what he gathered, it was the story of a sorry-ass pirate who kept losing his ship and then getting it back rather spectacularly.

He was quite amused by the pirate’s antics; it distracted him from the dull, permanent ache in his chest; the constant ache of missing Milah… And his daughter—a daughter he didn’t know he had, but loved nonetheless.

He just wished he could see her.

He was rudely broken from his thoughts by the door to his room slamming open and bouncing on the wall. A man limped into his room—there was something familiar about him; and an air of danger surrounded him.

He studied the man as he limped further into his room. “You,” Killian said, slowly, unsure of his memory, “I remember you.”

And he did.

Milah’s husband.

What on earth was Milah’s husband doing in this world?

A cruel grin appeared on his face. “Always nice to make an impression.” Killian frowned, remembering those be the exact words he had told the man when he came looking for Milah aboard his ship.   
“But where are my manners?” Milah’s husband—whose name he couldn’t recall at all—continued, the dark, menacing grin spreading over his features as Killian’s sense of dread only grew, “We haven’t been properly introduced.”

With that, he sank into a mocking bow. “Rumpelstiltskin, at your service.”

Killian paled, his eyes widening as Emma’s words suddenly blared in his memory, repeating themselves over and over again .

_“Milah… Milah was killed,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “by Rumpelstiltskin—the Dark One—when she tried to save you and Penelope.”_

“You killed her,” he choked, trying to contain his rage and his grief, unwilling to show this monster any sort of emotion—a response he was undoubtedly looking for—, “You killed Milah—you took my daughter.”

The man before him merely rolled his eyes and laughed. “Ah yes—I did, didn’t I? But see, dearie, as I took her from you, you stole her first.”

Killian growled and spat, “She came to me and begged me to take her away—to show her the world; it’s not stealing if she comes along willingly.”

Again, Rumpelstiltskin did no more than laugh at the utter conviction lacing his words, and Killian had to restrain himself from leaping from the bed to throttle the man—his knees were still a mess and he couldn’t stand on his own; he might be a temperamental pirate, but he knew how to pick his battles; and he only picked those he knew he could win.

This wasn’t one of them.

“I hope you are happy,” Killian spat, turning away from the monster that had ripped away his family, “You can go now; you’ve seen I’m miserable, which I’m quite certain is why you’re here. Now leave me, so I can grieve in peace.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s high, mocking voice interrupted his thoughts once again, and catapulted him straight into a memory. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for you, dearie.”

.

.

.

_He was subjected to helplessly watching as Milah—his sweet, courageous, loving Milah—had her heart ripped from her chest by the man she had once been married to._

_“No!” He cried, struggling against the ropes that held him bound to the mast, finally managing to cut them loose with the dagger he had stashed in his belt, stumbling towards Milah—just in time to catch her before she fell._

_He tried to push away the guilt and the all-consuming grief as she looked up at him with those large, honest blue eyes he loved so much—trying not to fall apart at her last, breathy 'I love you', or her fingers tracing his jaw one last time, before she gasped and went limp in his arms._

_“Milah,” he whispered, fighting back the hot tears, burning in his eyes, pain clawing at him—almost as though he had been ripped apart at the seams._

_She could not be dead._

_She couldn't. They had a life together; a future; he could not go on alone; he needed her; she_ couldn't _be dead._

_And as he gazed at the face of his love; the first woman he had ever loved; he felt anger build up inside of him; rage overtaking all of his other, basic urges._

_“You pay be all powerful now, demon,” he spat, slowly rising to face the monster that had killed her… Killed Milah… “But you're no less a coward.”_

_“I'll have what I came for now,” the Crocodile spoke, his voice low, threatening—an evil grin plastered upon his face._

_Before either of them could move, the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet on deck interrupted them—Killian's heart; that felt like it had been ripped to shreds already; squeezed painfully at the soft, melodious sound of her voice._

_“Papa? Why is Momma on the floor? Is she sleeping?”_

_His body tensed; his eyes closing in absolute and utter desperation and anger—because there is no way—no bloody way—that his crew allowed his daughter up on deck while that monster was still on his ship._

_He took one, deep breath in an attempt to get the upper hand on his emotions, and opened his eyes, glaring at Rumpelstiltskin, whose eyes were now fixed on the small, six-year-old that had appeared behind Killian._

_Slowly, he turned to face his daughter, praying for the strength to tell her that her mother was gone—that she wouldn't be coming back this time. Praying that he could get his daughter far away from the monster that had ruthlessly killed her mother._

_“Penny,” he said softly, as to not scare her, “I need you to go downstairs. I'll be right there, okay?”_

_She looked up at him with those big, impossibly blue eyes of hers, her lower lip trembling—his resolve wavered; he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and never let her go again—just to make sure she would be okay—but he knew that he needed her away from the Crocodile more._

_“Penelope,' he said, 'No protesting. Go downstairs.”_

_“Oh now, dearie,” that dreadful, terrifying voice interrupted, and Killian automatically curled around his daughter, shielding her from the Dark One's eyes, “Not so hasty,” he continued, that disgusting smirk still ever-present on his face._

_“Please, do introduce me to this…_ _beautiful_ _little girl.”_

_Killian felt every inch of his body erupt in goose bumps at the veiled threat in those ten words. “No,” he spat, “Not her too. You took Milah from me, like I took her from you—you ruined our lives already. Leave. You do not get_ _my_ _daughter too.”_

_Rumpelstilskin's high pitched laugh echoed across the deck and made him cringe—but he stood tall. He needed to be strong for Penny now; she needed him to be strong, to protect her—and he would._

_For his little girl, he would do anything._

_“Then you best give me what I came for,” the Crocodile hisses, holding out his clawed hand—but Killian refused to be this gullible._

_“No. New deal. Swear you will not harm us—swear you won't kill us; then I'll give you your bean.” He regarded the Crocodile's expression closely; he needed to be vigilant._

_This … This demon wouldn't hesitate to take everything from him just because he could; but he was bound by his own deals; so Killian did what he needed to—he made a deal with the man that killed his lover._

_Rumpelstiltskin nodded and smirked, “I swear I shall not kill you nor your precious little daughter. You will both live to see tomorrow. Hand me the bean.”_

_Before he could move though, Killian found himself trapped in thin air—it was as though he was being crushed between four solid walls; though he was surrounded by nothing but air._

_“Papa!” Penelope cried out, running for him—almost as though she believed she could save him. From the corner of his eye, Killian saw the demon's hand move, but he managed no more than a choked, “No!” before his daughter disappeared before his eyes in a puff of thick, purple and black smoke._

_“No!” He cried, struggling against the magical bonds that held him tied down. “You swore you wouldn't harm her! You said we could go free!”_

_“Now, now, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin snarled, “I swore no such thing. You asked me not to kill her. I didn't kill her—but you will live with the notion that she has to survive without you; somewhere you will never find her.” Killian's heart—already smashed and broken beyond repair—broke further; anger and resentment boiling up from a dark, evil place inside of him; a place he didn't even know existed. “I'll take what I came for now,” Rumpelstiltskin grinned, unmoving, his eyes fixed on Killian's fist._

_Killian glared at him and spat, “You'll have to kill me first.”_

_“Ah, ah, ah,” Rumpelstiltskin smirked, “I'm afraid that's not in the cards for you, dearie.”_

.

.

.

Killian stared up at the man, his hatred boiling red hot in his veins at the mere memory of seeing him take his innocent, beautiful daughter from him; seeing his love, his Milah, crumble into his arms as the coward crushed her heart—it temporarily made him forget about his rather painful injuries as he lurched forward, as though to throttle the man, before he was abruptly slammed back onto the bed, pain exploding all over his body as he was pressed into the matrass, magic seemingly crushing him.

He tried to breathe, tried to repel the pain, but found his airways blocked, his vision blurring and spotting. He knew he was dying—and instead of relief, as he had thought he would feel, he felt a deep, immeasurable fear.

And regret.

Regret—he thought of Emma, of how she had smiled at him when she realized he was awake and how the love; love like he had never seen before; radiated from her eyes—he thought of the way that light; that relief; dimmed when he had asked her where Milah was—and he thought of her tears when she told him what had happened to him.

He regretted pushing her away, regretted hurting her, regretting not letting her in—and as his memories slammed back into him, leaving him trying to gasp for breath, trying desperately to get air into his painfully empty lungs, he wished, more than anything, that he would’ve told Emma that he loved her.

He was fading; he couldn’t fight it anymore—so he gave into the darkness that beckoned him, letting his eyes fall shut, conjuring up the image of Emma’s relieved, loving smile one last time, before his brain short-circuited because of the lack of oxygen.

_I love you, Emma._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**_Killian_ **

_Her long, golden hair was fanned on the white pillow as she slept soundly. He busied himself listening to her calm breathing and staring at the pretty picture she made in his bed. She was hugging his pillow close, her face buried in it._

_She was wearing one of his long shirts, and he could clearly see the small love bites he had left on her neck and shoulders—it made him smile._

_“You’re staring again,” she mumbled into the pillow—he smirked. “I am merely admiring your beauty.” She laughed softly and gazed up at him, her forest green eyes locking onto his ice blue ones. ‘”You say the sweetest things sometimes,” she said, biting her lip seductively._

_He could sense the beginnings of her arousal—he had no clue how; he just did—and smirked as he climbed onto the bed with her. “Killian,” she moaned as he trailed his lips down her throat, leaving butterfly kisses on her skin. “Killian, I’m going to be late for work.” In contradiction to her words, her fingers twisted in his dark locks, pulling him closer to her hot and very bothered body. For as much as she wanted to be a responsible sheriff, Killian knew he had the ability to make her forget just about every responsibility they had._

_He growled softly as she yanked on his dark locks and nipped at the skin of her neck in retaliation. “I don’t care.”_

_He knew she felt the same warm feeling spreading throughout her body—and she smiled at him before he crushed his lips on hers again—the feeling only she was able to invoke within him—the feeling of intense happiness._

_She giggled as he softly tickled her sides._

_Squirming underneath him, she managed to choke, “Killian, I really have to go.” Stubbornly, he shook his head. “No, you don’t.” He leaned up to kiss her softly, starting with her lips, moving on to each of her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, trying to distract her so she wouldn’t think about work anymore._

_However, she saw through his distraction within seconds and—however much he tried to keep her mind otherwise occupied—she managed to peel herself from his arms and sit up, running a hand through her hair._

_He managed to snap her from her thoughts—drawing her attention back to him—by slipping his hand underneath the sheets that pooled around her waist. His fingers located the sweet spot on her right thigh all too easily, drawing slow, sensual circles on her skin._

_She jumped up though—he pouted and tried to keep his hand—and hook—on her for as long as he could. When she moved away from the bed, he sighed heavily. “I hate it when you go all good, responsible sheriff on me,” he whined as she started getting dressed. He liked it far better when she was taking her clothes off in front of him._

_She grinned and turned around, pressing her lips on his shortly and softly. He smiled against her lips, pulled her onto the bed again and rolled on top of her before she got the chance to protest._

_He heard her surprised squeak, followed by a low moan, and smiled in victory. Unfortunately, she managed to surprise him by pulling her lips from his, pushing at his chest. “Killian, get off. I can’t miss another day of work—you had me skip two already.” He groaned and nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. “Fine. But for the record, do you honestly regret that I made you stay in bed with me for two days, love?” She giggled and pushed him off, getting up again._

_When she bent down to pick up her shirt, she groaned. Killian raised an eyebrow. “What?” She showed him her shirt, or what was left of it anyway. Killian’s smile grew larger. “Oops,” he smirked. She rolled her eyes and threw the shirt at his head. “You so did that on purpose,” she exclaimed. “What am I going to wear now?”_

_He waggled his eyebrows at her, and he could see she regretted her question instantly.  “Killian!” She threw a pillow at him, “Stop that!”_

_“Stop what?”_

_“Trying to distract me!”_

_He rolled his eyes. “I am not_ trying _to distract you, lass,” he smiled, “I_ am _distracting you.” She sighed._

_“You have somewhere to be too,” she said, pulling a new shirt from underneath a pile of his shirts. He frowned. “I know. And where did you find that?” He pointed at the red shirt she was currently pulling over her head. She smirked. “Did you really think I wasn’t prepared for you tearing my clothes apart? Again.” He sighed._

_She bested him. Again._

_She smiled as she watched him get out of bed too, getting dressed with the necessary reluctance, his lower lip protruding in a tiny little pout the whole time. She rolled her eyes when he pulled his shirt over his head and walked over to where she was standing. “You know this isn’t the end of the world, right?” He rolled his eyes, pressed a kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her._

_“Of course it is,” he retorted, “Every time I let you out of my arms, something happens. And you’re going to be late.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I know. And it’s your fault I’m going to be late.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Well, if we’re going to be late anyway, maybe we should just continue what we were doing earlier.”_

_She slapped his arm. “No, we can’t. I really—” He kissed her, “Really—” Kiss, “Have to—” Kiss, “Go.”_

.

.

.

Killian felt like he was floating on thin air, which was the oddest thing he had ever felt in his entire life—which said something, considering his 300+ years as a pirate—and he couldn’t for the life of him decide whether that moment; the moment he just recalled with Emma; was a memory or a dream.

He hoped it was a memory—but then, he wasn’t really the most reliable source when it came to memories—but he couldn’t remember when he fell asleep either.

It didn’t make sense.

His body felt oddly numb and he couldn’t decide whether he should fight the hands that seemed to be pulling him back down or if he should let them.

Honestly, he felt quite content here—there wasn’t a trace of pain or regret or sadness in him for the first time in many, many years, and he quite liked feeling this free.

This was the kind of freedom he felt when he had sailed the Jolly Roger for the first time as her Captain, the promises of the endlessness of the ocean before him—the world had been open to him and he had been happy and free.

He had longed for that feeling for the past three hundred years—and nothing had ever come close since.

The hands that were pulling at him grew more insistent, and it irritated him beyond belief—he just wanted to be left in peace, was that too much to ask?

He could faintly hear voices—frantic, panicked exclamations that made him frown—really, where was the fire? Who was dying? There was no other legit reason to be so frantic otherwise.

One voice though—one, single, beautiful voice—rang out above all others, and though it still annoyed him, he felt a slight longing at the sound of it. He just wished he would hear everything that was being said—perhaps that would help; perhaps that would make more sense.

“What—you doing? No—Help him—ignore it—bring him back!” The words made no sense to him, and that aggravated him slightly, because he felt an intense longing being awoken within him with every word that was spoken.

The voice was so familiar, so hauntingly beautiful, it made him stop fighting the hands that pulled him back down for a moment.

He knew that voice—he knew her…

The very second her name flashed through his mind, a jolt rocked through his body, and the feeling of floating dissipated slightly—he no longer felt as though he had any control left over his body; it felt heavier than it ever had, cold creeping into his every pore when he remembered the crocodile’s face—if Emma was there, she would be in danger.

But once again, a jolt crashed through his body, leaving him panting heavily, unsure of what was happening—the faint, light feeling he had felt earlier; the freedom that came along with it; tugged at him again, and he allowed it to draw him away once again, enjoying how carefree it made him feel.

One of the voices cried, ‘We’re losing him!’ which made no sense to him—he was right here, wasn’t he?—and Emma’s pained cry made him wince.

She was worrying over nothing—he felt fine, as long as he let go, and let the lightness possess him.

“Killian!” He snapped to attention when she called out his name, her voice so filled with worry and intense sadness it nearly made him cry, “Please! Please, don’t do this to me! I love you!”

The exclamation brought upon the most elated and honest-to-God happy smile he had ever smiled, and for a moment, he let go of the lightness—surely, Emma would never lead him into a trap, would she?

And he loved her—an odd thing to consider, when he had sworn never to love again after Milah—but he did, and he hated to cause her pain.

But surely, if he were to be free, and happy, would that not make her happy too?

His thoughts were swirling confusedly in his hazy mind, as he was pulled from his choice—no more lightness, no more hands trying to hold him down.

Only darkness.

.

.

.

**Emma**

She hadn’t even left the station yet when it hit her.

The uncomfortable feeling that had had her stomach churning and twisting all day—the feeling she had been attributed to Killian’s memory loss and her inability to find his daughter and the person that hit him—switched to full-fledged pain, her vision blurring as she gasped for breath, stumbling against her car.

White hot searing pain shot through her veins, and she cried out, doubling over in pain—she could barely concentrate, unable to focus on anything but the fact that she felt as though someone was trying to suffocate her, crushing her bones to dust.

Slowly, the waves of pain subsided, and she could breathe once again, leaving her body feeling strangely numb, her thoughts murky, tangled and confused.

What the hell was that?

Something was wrong—she couldn’t pinpoint where the feeling came from,  but it was there, tugging at the back of her mind.

Something was terribly wrong, and she just couldn’t—

She stopped short, her eyes growing wide in horror.

Killian.

Something was happening to Killian.

She didn’t even bother getting her car—she just dropped whatever she was holding and turned on her heel, sprinting down Main Street, in the direction of the hospital, wishing desperately that she was wrong; that he was fine, that nothing was wrong.

And then she spotted Gold’s shop as she sprinted by—the sign was on ‘Closed’—and the puzzle pieces clicked.

Gold had finally figured out who the John Doe in the hospital was. She didn’t waste time at all—she had tried to keep Killian’s identity from becoming public knowledge with this situation in mind; she knew Gold wouldn’t take well to his presence.

She was getting out of breath, but she was nearly there, and she was fucking terrified of what she would find, but she refused to slow down, refused to believe that she could be too late.

She couldn’t be too late—she would skin Gold herself if he so much as laid a hand on Killian—he had to be okay.

She never even slowed down as she finally burst through the doors of the hospital, springing through the hallways—had they always been this long? This crowded?—pushing people aside carelessly, not giving a flying fuck about who she was pushing aside, not caring how much attention she was drawing to herself.

She skidded to a stop when she nearly ran into the small crowd that had gathered outside of Killian’s room, Whale being the one banging on the door, demanding for it to be opened.

“What the hell is going on?” she yelled, pushing through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Whale. He turned to her, his face ashen and his eyes wide. “It’s Gold—he’s locked himself in there with magic, we can’t get it open—we don’t know what’s happening in there.” 

Her heart seemed to stutter at that—she didn’t want to think about what was happening in there. She just needed to open that fucking door to get Gold away from _her_ pirate.

She peered through the tiny window, her heart sinking when she spotted Gold, his figure surrounded by a purple hue—something she had come to associate with magic.

“Oh, God,” she choked, rattling the door handle—she needed to get in there, she needed to find out what Gold was doing—Killian had to be alright; he _had_ to be.

He survived a fucking hit-and-run when no one thought he was going to wake up again, he just couldn’t die now.

She needed him to be okay.

“Gold!” She yelled, banging her fists on the door in desperation, “Gold, open this goddamn door right now!” She wasn’t sure whether he heard her, and she didn’t give a fuck—she needed him to open. The. Fucking. Door. Right. Now.

And then Gold moved—just one tiny little step—and her eyes fell upon Killian.

The world seemed to drag itself to a stop, screeching to an absolute stillness in a matter of seconds.

And why wouldn't it? This could not be happening.

Killian Jones, the first man she allowed herself to love in ten years, the man that had turned her world upside down from the moment she laid eyes on him, could not die like this.

It just couldn’t happen like this. After everything Killian had dragged himself through, his ridiculously long life couldn’t end in an anonymous hospital room.

Her vision tinted red—no.

No.

She was not going to let another fucking magic-using son of a bitch take someone she loved from her.  She was fucking sick and tired of everyone trying to control her life—Killian was _her_ True Love, and it was _her_ choice to bring him here; and she wasn’t going to let anyone take him away from her.

“No!” She cried, slamming her hands down on the surface of the door, not even the least bit surprised when it blew open, a dark, purple shockwave emitting from her chest, blowing Gold off his feet and against the wall.

It felt as though her heart was on fire, millions of tiny ants crawling underneath her skin, energy begging to be released.

She stalked into the room, feeling oddly calm, to where Gold lay crumpled against the wall. He was conscious, and breathing heavily, his eyes wide and—dare she say it—tinged with slight fear.

“Stay away from Killian,” she hissed, “Or I swear, I will skin you myself. _Crocodile_.” Something flashed in his eyes—a hint of remorse, mixed with amusement that only pissed her off further. Tactlessly, she dragged him to his feet by his tie, her anger streaming red hot through her veins.

“Am I making myself clear, Mr. Gold?” She hissed, tightening her grip on his collar.

Gold was silent for a long, intense moment, staring into her eyes hard—undoubtedly an attempt to stare her down; and a laughable attempt at that—before he spat, “Crystal, miss Swan. Or is it Jones already?”

Her heart clenched at the mention of Killian’s name. Slowly, she managed to calm herself slightly and stepped back. “Get the fuck out of here, Gold. If I ever see you anywhere near him again, I will arrest you, and send across the border myself. Now leave.”

She watched, her muscles tense, as Gold scurried from the room, before she turned to the bed, her breath catching in her throat when she saw Killian. He was motionless, his skin deadly pale and his lips tinged blue.

He wasn’t breathing.

“No,” she choked, stumbling to the bed, “No, Killian, please, no.”

“Whale,” she cried, turning to see the doctor frozen on the threshold, “What the hell are you doing? Get in here!”

“You need to let me in,” he yelled back, “your magic is still blocking me!” She gasped, frowning, her panic somehow not allowing her to think straight anymore.

“What? No, no, it’s not. Get the fuck in here! You need to help him!”

“I can’t! something’s blocking me!”

“Ignore it!” She cried, “It’s only blocking you because you let it! There’s nothing there, Whale!” she got up and stumbled to the door, walking right through. “There’s nothing here! Now get the fuck in here and bring him back!”

Completely chaos ensued her outburst as she was pushed to the back of the room—nurses and doctors; more than she thought this hospital had; flooded the room and gathered around Killian’s bed and all she could do was stare helplessly, tears gathering in her eyes.

Her head swiveled from side to side as she tried to follow every new development, tried desperately to keep up with whatever they said.

“No pulse! Intubate him!”

“Clear!”

She gasped slightly, falling back against the wall as she watched the small army of doctors and nurses working on Killian, her hand shaking uncontrollably as she covered her mouth to stifle the silent tears that ran down her cheeks.

“I'm not leaving him!” Emma shouted, trying to run towards him again when a set of hands pulled on her arm, gently trying to pull her from the room. “Sheriff,” a small, blonde nurse appeared before her, her hands planted on her hips, “You need to let us do our job. We are going to do everything we can—but you need to let us.”

She looked from the nurse back to the bed where the man holding her heart lay, the medical personnel scrambling to save him. She would fight another fucking dragon if it meant he would be okay—if it meant she could hold  his hand one more time.

She didn’t want him to be alone—if she really had been too late, she didn’t want him to be alone.

Logically, she knew she’d only be in their way, and that the nurse was right—but the thought of leaving ripped into her, crippling her—she couldn’t just leave him.

“Please,” she choked, “He’s everything to me—please, save him.” She didn’t even care that her emotions were clearly on display, for everyone to see; she just needed to know that he was going to be okay. The small nurse nodded and offered a comforting smile, before taking her arm and leading her into the waiting room.

.

.

.

As the minutes ticked away, the reality of what had just happened set in, the adrenaline leaving her system, leaving her numb with shock. Her anger had been growing steadily as the seconds dragged by—she knew that the longer she went without news, the smaller the chances of Whale coming out to tell her good news—and she couldn’t handle the thought of bad news.

All she wanted was for him to tell her that it would be okay.

“Emma!”

She turned to see Snow and Charming rush in, freezing at the doorstep. She imagined she looked quite the mess. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she had been running her hands through her hair so many times, she imagined her blonde locks would be tangled and messy too.

“Is he—” Snow choked on the question, her eyes watering slightly. Emma was surprised at the display of emotion, but then realized that Snow and Killian had become quite close in the past few weeks; of course they had.

She had been the only person he talked to.

“I don’t know,” she responded flatly, letting the words linger, the implications of her words hitting them all equally hard. Snow burst into tears, and Charming pulled her into his embrace. Emma couldn’t look at them—she would give anything to be able to curl into Killian’s arms.

“Where’s Henry?” she muttered suddenly, a pang of guilt hitting her for completely forgetting about her son. Charming cleared his throat softly while Snow continued to cry and said, “We called Alli. She picked him up—she said that she’d pray for Killian too; she hoped it would make a difference.”

Emma choked back a sob. Alli really was the best best friend she could ever have wished for.

“Emma?” She jumped to her feet, whirling around to see Whale standing in the doorway, hesitant. “Whale?” She squeaked, trying so hard to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest, “How is he?”

She knew.

She knew the very moment he lowered his gaze to the floor. Before he even spoke the words. “I’m sorry, Emma. We tried.” Snow started sobbing loudly behind her, but she didn’t pay attention.

She felt strangely calm.

“I want to see him,” she said softly, “I need to see him.”

Whale nodded slowly, taking a step back and extending his arm in invitation, and she flashed back to the beanstalk, when Killian had made that exact same move—tears welled up in her eyes again as she tried to ignore everyone else.

She just needed to see him—and everything would make sense again; he couldn’t be dead; and he wouldn’t be—she just needed to see him, and he would be okay.

He had to be.

He couldn’t be dead.

She hesitated once she reached the door, afraid of what she would find at the other side. She breathed in shakily, trying to steel herself, convince herself that everything would be okay—that she could do this.

Slowly, wincing at the creaking as the door swung open, she stepped inside. She willed herself to walk up to the bed, knowing what she would find.

Killian lay on the bed, his eyes closed, his skin pale and multiple tubes protruding from his body.

And all at once, it hit her.

He was dead.

Gold killed him.

He was dead.

Killian was dead—the love of her life—her True Love—was dead.

He was gone; and he wasn’t coming back.

A strangled sob fell from her lips as all of it; the sorrow, the grief, the pain; hit her. She cried loudly, uncontrollably and pathetically as she crawled up the bed with him and buried her head in his chest, whispering his name over and over again, almost like a prayer.

He still smelled like him—he still felt like him.

“Please,” she breathed, “Please, don’t do this to me. You can’t do this to me. I love you, Killian.” She rested her forehead against his, her tears falling onto his cheeks.

“Please, don’t leave me, not you too.” She lowered her lips to his, brushing her lips over his so softly and so barely, it couldn’t even be called a real kiss. But it was what it was—a simple, sweet, honest goodbye-kiss.

And then her body heated up with that warm, fuzzy spark that surrounded them the first time too, and she gasped when he suddenly kissed her back, raising his hand to her cheek. She pulled back, unable to believe her eyes when he smiled weakly, his fingers still caressing her cheek.

“Hello love,” he whispered, “It’s about bloody time.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Snow**

She held onto Charming tightly, crying at the loss of Killian—whatever she had thought he was before, she knew she had been wrong. Killian had been a good man—admittedly, his moral compass was a little skewed, but after everything that had ever happened to him, she couldn’t really blame him.

She had even started to consider him a good friend. And Emma… Dear God, Emma.

“Oh God,” she sobbed into her husband’s chest, “Emma… How is she going to get through this?” She felt her husband tense at the mention of their daughter’s love for the pirate—he still didn’t like the idea, no matter how close she and Killian had become and even though he was Emma’s True Love—and then reply, “We’ll help her. We’ll be there for her. She’s… She’s gonna be okay. She has to be.”

She nodded shakily, willing herself to feel the same amount of conviction that he obviously felt. He was right, Emma had to be alright—she had to survive this.

“Come,” he said softly, tugging her from the waiting room where they were still standing, “Let’s go see her.”

Snow looked up, slightly horrified. “Charming, this is her final goodbye—we should give her time. She needs to say goodbye to him; wouldn’t you need that? The time to say goodbye, if I died?”   
He stiffened in her arms, his face contorting with agony at the mere thought. “No,” he breathed, “No, because I would never be able to let you go. I’d need someone to pull me away. And we need to do that for her.”

And as much as she wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, she knew he wasn’t.

Losing one’s True Love was the most painful thing there was—and Emma would need them to help her through it.

“Okay,” she breathed, tears prickling in her eyes again, “Okay. Let’s go see the—her. See her.”

She allowed Charming to lead her through the corridor, both stopping short at the door when they heard Emma’s voice drift through.

“How—this isn’t possible—Oh my God.”

Snow frowned; something didn’t sound right. The sorrow and the pain that had been lingering in Emma’s voice whenever she spoke of Killian lately was missing.

Slowly, her hands shaking, she pushed the door open, gasping at the scene before her.

Emma was sitting on the hospital bed, her arms wrapped around a very-much-alive Killian Jones, who had his arms wrapped around her waist tightly, his face buried in her hair as she cried against him.

She couldn’t do anything but stare, shock coursing through her. Whale had said he was dead—Emma had believed he was dead. Tears ran down her cheeks at the sight of Emma and Killian so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t even notice her and Charming in doorway.

“Oh my God,” Snow breathed, falling back against her husband slightly, allowing him to support her; her head was spinning with the implications of Killian’s miraculous survival—how the hell did he survive?

Emma and Killian finally separated, both staring at her and Charming with equal sheepish grins.

“Hi Snow,” Killian finally spoke, smirking at her in a way that was _so_ familiar and so inherently Killian, she couldn’t suppress the sob of relief that burst from her lips as she hurried forward, colliding into her daughter and Killian, enveloping them both in a constrictive hug.

“You’re okay,” she blubbered, so emotional she couldn’t fully remember how to breathe.

Or how to let go of her daughter and Killian.

“You scared the hell out of us, Killian,” she scolded, once she’d managed to calm herself slightly—not that it did much difference; she’d never felt this relieved before—finally pulling away from the couple.

He smiled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s not like I asked the bloody crocodile to kill me, did I?” Snow didn’t miss the way he looked at Emma briefly, a soft smile touching his lips, before he continued, “Though I must say, it did have its advantages.”

She puzzled over that statement for a moment, before it suddenly clicked—the image of her daughter and Killian holding onto each other for dear life swam before her, and she gasped. “You remember? You remember! He triggered your memories!”

Killian grinned wolfishly—she heard Charming groan behind her—and nodded. “Aye, he did. For a moment though…” he trailed off, and Snow nearly swooned over the loving look he sent to Emma, “…For a moment I thought I’d never get to tell Emma that I was sorry for the things I said.”

 Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and for a moment, Snow was pretty sure they’d forgotten she and Charming were in the room—the way Emma was now looking at the pirate; such longing and love—Snow blushed and backed away from the bed.

Suddenly, she became highly aware of the fact that she was in the room with two people who thought they’d lost each other forever and just found their way back to each other—she remembered that feeling; it had taken every bit of self-control she had not to jump Charming the instant she could—she did not want to see what’d happen if either Emma or Killian would snap.

She could live without those images seared into her mind, thank you very much.

She knew Killian was okay—and now that he had his memories back, she was sure he and Emma would have a lot of catching up to do—and she was quite sure she didn’t want to hear or see most of that. “Okay,” she smiled uneasily, trying to hold back her husband—who didn’t seem all too pleased with the way Killian was looking at their daughter—, “We’re going to … Go. Henry—Henry will be waiting for us to pick him up.”

She didn’t really give anyone time to respond to that and followed her stuttered statement by pushing a highly-uncooperative Charming from the room, hurrying out herself too—she knew she would need the alone-time, if anything like this ever happened to her and Charming.

“Snow?” Killian called out, right before she shut the door. She bit her lip and turned, trying not to blush at the intimate position her daughter and the pirate were currently in—Emma was nearly in his lap—and tilted her head. “Yes?”

He smiled, a genuine smile, one that she had not often seen before, and said, “Thank you. For everything.”

And in that smile, she could see the Killian Jones her daughter had fallen so head over heels in love with, the Killian Jones she considered her friend—not the vengeful pirate they had tied to a tree and threatened to let ogres eat. She could see a man that would do anything for the woman he loved; a man that would do anything to keep her daughter happy and safe; a man that was worthy of her.

She smiled back and inclined her head.

“You’re welcome.”

.

.

.

**Killian**

Her tinkling laugh made his heart swell in his chest, and he wanted to curse himself for being such a bloody sap when it came to her, but when she smiled at him, it somehow made everything else seem rather unimportant.

She was leaning her head against his chest, laughing uncontrollably—he had wished to see her this carefree, this happy for a long time, and he reveled in it for as long as it lasted. She looked up at him with those damned beautiful eyes of hers and leaned in instantly—making the beeping on the machine next to his bed go wild—pressing her lips to his in the softest kiss he had ever received.

“Tell me you saw her face—she looked like she wanted to melt through the floor,” she whispered against his lips, making him smile all over again. He smirked cockily, knowing it drove her crazy when he did that, but the playful anger that radiated from her—and the expressions that came with it—were worth the effort of teasing her.

“Of course I saw her face, love—and I must say, the things she was undoubtedly imagining do sound rather _appealing_ , do they not?” He winked at her, grinning when she blushed lightly and shifted lightly in his lap—he loved it when he got her cheeks all rosy and flushed.

She flashed him one of his own smirks and rolled her hips against his, sending vibes of equal pleasure and pain rocking through his body, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

Damn her.

He desired her above all else—she’d do well not to tease him. “Love,” he growled, tightening his grip on her hip, “Do not tease a man like that.” She bit her lip seductively and he nearly cursed—damn little minx knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“I just came back from the dead, love,” he cajoled, widening his eyes innocently, “Have some mercy, will you?” He knew he said the wrong thing immediately—Emma’s eyes clouded with tears once again, and he winced at the thought of her hurting because of him.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was?” she whispered, allowing him to pull her into his embrace nonetheless, “I thought I’d lost you.” He pressed his lips to her hair and sighed. “But you didn’t. I’m right here.”

“How?” She breathed, “How are you here? You were dead, Killian. Your heart wasn’t beating and you weren’t breathing. You were gone. How did you come back?”

He couldn’t suppress a slight wince at the mention of dying—he did not remember much of the moment itself; it was a blur of confusion and darkness; and it made him rather uncomfortable to talk about.

“I’d rather discuss that particular event some other time, if you don’t mind,” he replied, trying not to sound insensitive. He loved Emma, and he would give her the world if he could, but he simply wasn’t ready to face the fact that he _died_ just yet. He knew she had to have gone through hell—and he loathed himself for pushing her away—but bloody hell, _he_ was the one who had actually died; did that not give him the prerogative to be upset?

“I hate it when you refuse to tell me things,” she pouted, sitting up, her hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders. He rolled his eyes at her, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the soft skin of her waist—he didn’t want to fight either.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” He pouted at her, knowing it tugged on her heartstrings. “I nearly died today.”

“Exactly! Doesn't that prove we should talk about this now?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Sweetheart, I'm  _really_ pleased we're both alive,” he purred, “I believe celebration is in order. Talking comes later.” He felt a shudder run down her spine at his words and smirked—that was the effect he was looking for.

He sat up too—suppressing the twinge of pain in his chest at the sudden movement—, her face only inches from his now. “Now tell me you'd rather talk than kiss too, and I'll ... Squeal,” he breathed—feeling rather pleased with himself as he heard her sharp intake of breath.

Her eyes flickered down to his lips for a moment before she smirked and purred, “You just won't give up until I put out, will you?” He had a snappy retort all ready to go for her, but his thoughts were entirely derailed when she trailed her hand down his chest, her fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake.

When her fingers had found their way into his hair—he supposed she did love playing with his hair—, she pushed him down—carefully—, pressing her soft lips to his. The feeling of fulfillment and contentment when he kissed her took hold of him again, and he responded to her kiss with enthusiasm, tunneling his fingers in her hair to pull her closer.

Soon enough, he felt that inexplicable, carnal need to rip her clothes off, which he desperately wanted, but couldn’t, with his good hand trapped in her curls.  
He decided to let her win this particular game of dominance and slipped his good hand underneath her shirt, tracing invisible patterns on her soft, warm skin.

But as he teasingly stroked the lace of what he could only assume was some sort of corset she was wearing, she sat up, pushing him down on the mattress and scowled at him as he blinked up at her in confusion.

What did he do now?

“I am not having sex with you while you’re hurt,” she growled—and though he heard the words, it was rather hard to focus while she was straddling him.

“Why not?” He whined, thrusting his hips up a little.

She crossed her arms over her chest—which made him pout; why did she have to obstruct his perfect view on her delectable cleavage? —and scowled, “I could hurt you, make things worse.”

He sighed and trailed his fingers up and down her side teasingly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he felt her muscles tense under his touch. “Emma, love, my ribs may be broken—but everything else is still… Intact.”

She rolled her eyes and made to get off of him, but he resisted—he liked her where she was right now. Like this, he could actually look at her, and try to find out what was really bothering her. It couldn't just be that he wanted to make love to her—despite his ‘broken’ state, as she so eloquently put it.

“Emma,” he muttered, cupping her cheeks and wiping a few stray locks of hair from her forehead, “Is that really what's bothering you? I'm sorry,” he whispered in addition, when she didn't reply, “I didn’t mean to push you.”

She let out a deep breath and sagged against his chest, snuggling deep into his embrace. “It's not... It's just... You scared me so bad today. I just can’t get the image of you—I can’t get it out of my head.” She sniffed against his chest, “I could live with the notion of you not remembering me—but to see you die… Before we even got a chance to be—it felt like I was dying too, and it scared me so much.”

He groaned softly and played idly with her hair as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating what to say next. “Why didn't you just tell me?” He said softly, “I would never have shrugged it off if I knew it made you feel like this.”

She made a small whimpering sound and burrowed further into his arms.

'”I didn't want you to worry. I just... I don't want to lose you,” she confessed softly, and he completely understood her sentiments.

He tightened his arms around her and pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

“I would never let that happen. I would never just leave you, Emma.” He slowly forced her to look up at him, so he could look into her eyes, making sure she would hear the truth and pure conviction in his voice.

“Promise?” She whispered, “Promise you'll always be there to help me?”

“I will never leave you,” he muttered, “I will always take care of you. I promise.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**Killian**

**_(Two months later)_ **

“So,” he grumbled, leaning his head back against the booth, “basically, we have nothing.” He tried to swallow around the large lump that was forming in his throat.

He was not, by any means, an impatient man, nor did he give up easily, but he felt like he had never been closer to the brink of desperation before. Emma took his hand in both of hers, and he tried not to wince at the pulse that shot through his veins upon her touch—it was something he still wasn’t used to.

After being discharged from the hospital, Emma had insisted he move in with her and Henry—who he had been instantly taken with—and he had offered little protest at that point. He wished to explore what he and Emma shared, and the more time he spent with her, the easier it would be.

Or so he had thought.

As much as they both knew they loved each other, everything that had happened did not rid them of their previous reservations when it came to love and relationships. Killian had not considered committing himself to one woman in nearly three hundred and twenty six years, and it was hard to remember, at times, that Emma was a very jealous and possessive person.

His flirtatious manner was almost as natural as breathing to him by now, and he was often not even aware that he was doing or saying things that could be perceived as more than playful flirtation—it infuriated Emma when he; sometimes wholly subconsciously; flirted with someone who wasn’t her.

Most of all, Emma was—no matter how much he had tried to assure her of the opposite—still quite fearful that he would grow tired of her and leave her.

He was quite certain this was something that would never happen, but sadly, it was something she was not convinced of yet, no matter how much he tried to prove that he genuinely loved her—because as foreign as the idea still felt in his mind; he did.

He loved Emma Swan, and there was nothing he would not do to keep her safe.

It was safe to say though, that as much as they loved each other, their unsaid words, untreated issues and unresolved pasts put a strain on the progress of their relationship.

So they did what they did best.

They avoided it and focused on other issues—Penelope, in this case.

And so far, their efforts to find her had gone completely to waste; it was as though Penelope Jones had truly vanished in thin air when the Crocodile took her from him.

It had him on edge, to say the least.

He desperately wanted to believe he could still find his daughter, hold her, and tell her he was sorry for making her wait this long before finding her, but the rational part of his brain—the part that he did not often pay attention to—kept reminding him of the timeframe.

Three hundred and twenty three years had passed since he had last laid eyes upon her, and though he had withstood the years in Neverland, there was no guarantee whatsoever that Penelope had somehow survived the centuries too.

He knew Emma wanted to believe, and that she was doing the best she could to help him; but at times like these, he felt like it was simply not enough.

He had seen Emma wince at the bitter note in his voice when he spoke, and he felt bad for it instantly—the one thing he refused to do was hurt Emma; no matter how hopeless and defeated and bloody useless he felt if he couldn’t find Penelope.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighed, rubbing soft circles onto the back of her hand with his thumb, “I just—” She interrupted him, lacing their fingers together and smiling gently. “It’s okay. I know. I get it.”

His heart thudded loudly against his chest at her smile, and he squeezed her hand in return. “I know you do. I love you, Emma.”

As usual, he saw genuine happiness bloom in her eyes as he spoke the words, but the touch of fear always lingered—and it cut him to the core that she was still afraid of what they had, even after everything they’d been through already.

Before he could comment on it though, she shook her head slightly and smiled. “And I you, Killian. Now, tell me again—what does she look like? Does she have any special features we can look for? Something to recognize her by?”

 He frowned, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Last time I saw her, her hair was long, curly…” Emma smiled at him and nodded. “Your hair color?”

He nodded curtly. “Aye. And Milah’s grey eyes. Though, in the right light, they are blue rather than grey.” She nodded and bit her lip. “Okay. Any birthmarks? Something special about her appearance?” He smiled sadly as he tried to remember everything  about Penny—but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t remember.

‘I don’t know,’ he choked, loathing how himself for not holding onto the memory of his daughter any harder, ‘I can’t remember. Why can’t I bloody remember?’

He fought so hard to push back the burning tears in his eyes, he didn’t notice Emma getting out of the booth and sliding in next to him until she cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “It’s okay, Killian.”

He shook his head, her words not at all placating him.

It was not okay—not at all.

Emma didn’t let him wallow though, pulling his attention back to her. “Yes, it is. It’s been centuries since you’ve seen her. You’re only human, Killian.”

And though he heard her, he found it harder and harder to focus on her—he felt as though he was drowning in his guilt; he should have tried harder to find Penelope earlier—instead, he had let his grief and thirst for revenge consume him.

“Killian, you are a good man,” Emma whispered, cupping his face in his hands, tilting his head up slightly as a heart-achingly beautiful smile appeared on her lips. “And you will find her. I promise you, I will help you find her. And when we do, she will be as happy to see you as you will be. Okay?”

He nodded the best he could, with her hands still hot on his cheeks. “Okay. It is difficult to remain as optimistic as you and your mother at times,” he smirked at her, “though I am sure you could find a way to… Cheer me up.” He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him, instantly feeling better.  

Her eyes seemed to melt, and his heart melted into a puddle of goo at the sight she made. Slowly, he reached up to pull her hand from his cheek.

“I love you,” he breathed, “I love you so much.”

She smiled and wove her fingers in his hair, pulling his lips down to hers. As they kissed slowly, languidly, he marveled at how good it felt to be kissed by someone that loved him so completely, so truly. He had no doubt that Milah had loved him truly too—but for different reasons than Emma did.

Milah had loved him for the life he could give her.

And he had loved her too—but never once had Milah made him feel like he belonged. Not like Emma did. Slowly, she broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against his as they sat, locked in their intimate embrace. His hand had drifted down to her hip while hers had found their way into his hair.

“I love you,” she breathed against his lips, making his heart skip a beat, “And I promise, we’ll find a way to make everything work out for us.”

He smiled wryly, trying not to get his hopes up. As much as he trusted Emma and believed in her, he was afraid to think of what would happen if things _wouldn’t_ work out. He knew he was bitter and angry, and though he had promised Emma to hold off on his revenge—if he couldn’t find Penelope; he wasn’t sure what he’d do to the Crocodile.

And if he did, in fact, enact his revenge, he would lose Emma. He barely survived losing Milah—he was not delusional enough to think he would be able to find a reason to live if Emma was ever taken from him; voluntarily or otherwise.

For now though, all that mattered was that he and Emma were together, and that she loved him for who he was.

That was all he could care about now.

“It’s nearly three-thirty,” He muttered, glancing at the clock behind the bar, “Your shift will start soon, and I need to go pick up Henry.”

She let a heavy sigh fall from her lips before pulling away from him—he missed her warmth in his arms immediately—and running a hand through her curls. “Yeah.. You’re right. We should go. Walk me there?”

He smirked at her and offered her his arm when they stood. “Of course, milady.”

They walked from the diner, allowing themselves to be the foolish, young, oh-so-in-love people that they were at heart but were afraid to show to the world. Killian loved how Emma’s hand fit perfectly in his, how she leaned into him slightly, how light she made him feel.

When he was with Emma, he no longer felt like an old man trapped in a younger body—a feeling that had overcome him several times in the past three centuries—and he no longer felt as angry and resentful.

Neither one of them felt the pair of heavy, angry gazes rest upon their retreating backs.

.

.

.

**Emma**

She kissed Killian goodbye at the station, catching herself staring after him as he headed for the school to pick up her son.

She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her thoughts before she would get to work—Killian had this annoying habit to make her forget about everything and everyone else when she was with him; and it still scared her.

That was why—despite his heavy protests—she had put a halt to their intimate time spent together. She wanted to take this one slow; she hadn’t allowed anything but kissing—and maybe some heavy-petting when she was feeling frisky—between them; something that Killian had respected and accepted, despite his initial protest.

She knew he, too, was rather hesitant to take their relationship to the next level. If they did, there would be nothing between them anymore, and she just wasn’t ready for that.

As much as she _wanted_ to trust and believe in him, there was still this little voice in her head that reminded her that they all left her when they got what they wanted from her. Deep down, she knew it was ridiculous to think something like that, and that it would break Killian’s heart if she ever told him, but she just couldn’t get herself to let go of that final wall; the only thing that kept Killian from possessing her love completely.

It was hard though, keeping that final wall up, when she saw how he was with Henry. Henry _adored_ the pirate, and Emma nearly believed he loved Killian more than she did. It scared her a little bit—how much Henry was depending on Killian. She knew Killian would never purposefully hurt Henry, but it was very hard to let go of her final reservations, the doubts that resurfaced.

Henry had readily accepted the new father figure in his life, and loved spending time with him, always badgering Killian for stories about Neverland and his adventures as a pirate.

Killian always pretended to be annoyed at first, but as soon as he began telling the story, he spoke with so much fervor, and so much conviction, it usually had both her and Henry hanging onto his every word.  

It enforced the thought she had always entertained—he was an amazing father; and that thought inevitably led to her thinking about little blonde babies with her curls and his blue eyes, which sent her into a panicked frenzy every single time—because it was _way_ too early to begin thinking about what their future children would look like.

She sighed as she entered the station, tossing her jacket onto her chair and eyeing the pile of paperwork waiting for her distastefully.

She would much rather spent the night with her boys, but she had promised Charming to take the night shift tonight—he wanted to spend some time with Snow; she shuddered at the thought of her parents ‘spending time together’.

She did not want to think about that.

Gross.

With another heavy sigh, she pushed both her parents and Killian and Henry from her thoughts and set to work. Charming still didn’t have a clue as to how to manage most of the paperwork that came with the job, so he left it for her more often than not.

Pretty soon, she was up to her elbows in loose papers, burglary reports and petty theft reports.

For a small town filled with fairytale characters, there was a surprising amount of petty crimes. She rolled her eyes and smirked at the thought that shot through her mind.

She might be the one dating a notorious pirate captain, but at least he hadn’t been vandalizing the town like Whale—a doctor/graffiti artist, really?—stealing groceries like August or scaring the crap out of Belle whenever he crossed her path, like Smee.

Actually, she should set Killian on that one, she mused quietly, chewing on her pen, Smee _had_ been a part of his crew. Maybe Killian could get him to back off before Gold ripped his head off or turned him into a goldfish or something.

She groaned and resisted the urge to bang her head on her desk when she checked the pile of paperwork an hour later and noting she had only managed to get a small part of it done.

She gave up for the time being and got up, stumbling towards the coffeemaker, praying to God the stupid thing would actually work with her this time and provide her with some much-needed caffeine.

As she waited, her thoughts slowly drifted to Killian again, and how dejected he had looked when she had told him about her latest progress in their search for Penelope—which were nearly inexistent. She knew it was killing him, and that he still blamed himself for a lot of it, even though she had tried to make him see that none of it— _none_ of it—was his fault.

It broke her heart, to know that he was still so shattered about it, but she understood.

She knew.

He needed closure—something he could only get through revenge; they disagreed on that one; or through finding his daughter. And though he had promised her not to go after Gold _for now_ , she knew that if it turned out Penelope had died because Killian hadn’t been there to protect her, it would completely _break_ him.

And she wouldn’t be able to put him back together—and it scared her.

She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, and she knew she would, if she couldn’t find Penelope for him. She hated that he was so messed up over the loss, especially since it had been over three centuries, but she _understood_.

She couldn’t imagine how much he must’ve hurt, losing his love and his child all at the same time. She didn’t even want to think about how she would respond if she were to lose both Henry and Killian.

She had only once seen a glimpse of the broken man that Killian still was, deep within, when he had been confronted about Milah and Penelope, and his newly developing relationship with her, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to see that man again, because it had shattered her to see him like that.

.

.

.

_She was running, trying to get to the beanstalk as fast as she could, excitement buzzing through her entire body. She could hear Kil—Hook running after her, and suppressed a smile. He had understood what she meant instantly, and hadn’t even questioned her when she told them about the shriveled bean._

_Of course, he’d protested a little about going back, but she would have been more worried for his sanity if he hadn’t._

_She still felt rather off about the whispered conversation with her mother before they took off, but she refused to let it deter her—she needed to get back to her son, back to Storybrooke, and it didn’t matter what she had to do to get there._

_It didn’t matter who or what she had to face—besides, she fought a dragon; how hard could it be to fight a Giant when he’d refuse their request for the bean?_

_Finally, the beanstalk loomed before them, and she skidded to an unsteady halt, her legs shaking slightly in exhaustion._

_She hadn’t realized how tired she was._

_She nearly tripped, but was caught by the suddenly very helpful pirate, who had come up behind her. “Easy there, love,” he said softly, while she tried to suppress the shiver that ran down her spine when his breath washed over her skin._

_She shook her head and pushed away from him, running a hand through her hair._

_“Don’t you get all grabby with me, Hook. How long did it take us to climb it last time?” She questioned, glancing towards the beanstalk, frowning slightly. The sun was decidedly lower in the sky than she liked, and she had hoped they’d be able to get here with plenty of time to get up there, grab the bean, and climb back down._

_“Too long,” Hook sighed, “We’d never be able to get back before dark.”_

_Desperation washed over her again as she imagined having to be away from her son for another day. She really was a horrible mother._

_“Swan,” Hook spoke up, drawing her attention back to him, “None of those thoughts now.” He stepped up in front of her, and she hated how her heart sped up slightly at his proximity, so she spat, “Just… Just leave me alone, Hook.” She pulled away from him and turned her back on him, hating the way he made her feel._

_She hated that he made her feel vulnerable. She_ couldn’t _trust him; kiss or no kiss._

Damn it, Emma, _she cursed herself,_ don’t think about the stupid kiss! _He sighed. “So we’re back to that? Even after the cell? After what happened? You still don’t trust me?”_

_She whirled around, glaring at him. “You promised you would drop it!” She snarled, her hands trembling with suppressed rage and emotion; she just wanted to forget about it. She just wanted to forget that Hook was supposedly her True Love—she didn’t believe in such nonsense._

_She was a realist; True Love didn’t exist, at least not to her._

_“Struck a nerve there, didn’t I?” He growled, his eyes dark and menacing. She ran her hands through her hair and breathed in deeply._

Don’t hit him, Emma, _she chanted silently,_ Don’t let him know he gets to you.

_“Look, Hook,” she sighed, “We don’t have time for this. We’re here for one reason and one reason only. The bean.”_

_He rolled his eyes and smiled, lifting his good hand to touch her cheek lightly._

_So lightly, she felt as though his fingertips had burned her skin. She cringed away from his touch and caught his hand in hers. “Please,” she whispered, “Don’t. We had an agreement. Don’t go back on your word.”_

_His expression grew serious as she glanced towards the beanstalk once more, contemplating going up anyway. “Emma,” he growled, “Nighttime is_ dangerous _here. There are creatures about you could not even imagine in your wildest dreams. We need to make camp, start a fire—that’ll keep most away. Climbing the beanstalk now will not get us back to your lad faster. It’ll only get us killed—and then where would he be?”_

_She knew he was right, but refused to just give in. “But I could—“ he pinned her lips shut and shook his head. “Swan, you’ve already almost gotten me killed twice today. Let’s save the third time for tomorrow, shall we? I am famished and exhausted, and would be useless in a fight right now.”_

_She swallowed thickly as his eyes clouded with emotion. “We both learned some … intriguing things today, lass… We should just… Try to process everything tonight—we’ll be good to go bright and early tomorrow, I promise.”_

_She nodded slowly, smiling back when he smiled brilliantly at her. “Brilliant,” he exclaimed, “Now let’s make camp, shall we?”_

_She didn’t know why, but before he could move away further, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to her, wrapped her arms around his waist,_ _burying her face in his chest while pulling him close, as though he would suddenly disappear_ _. She relished in the warmth of the embrace and the comfort it offered, as she had known it would._

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I am scared. But you were right—this is as baffling for you as it is for me. I don’t want to get us both killed—I’m just worried about Henry, and my mom, and Mulan and Aurora and_ you _,” she looked up into his stunning blue eyes, “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered, “Thank you. For keeping me from killing us all in my haste to get home.”_

_She could see the moment his walls broke—she could see the moment he let her in—and it filled her with joy she had never before experienced. At the same time, fear like she had never before felt coursed through her veins at the thought of opening up to him, of letting him in._

_She couldn’t._

_She couldn’t risk it; kiss or not, True Love or not._

_“You’re welcome, love,” he whispered, leaning in slowly, his eyes flickering between her eyes and her lips. She slowly moved her gaze up to meet his and promptly forgot how to breathe. His hand still rested on her cheek, his thumb softly stroking the soft skin, as though nothing had changed._

_As though the air around them wasn’t suddenly crackling with electricity._

_Her lips parted just a little bit as she breathed in sharply. Involuntarily, she leaned closer, unwilling to let him go. “Emma. . .” Her name slipped from his lips, soft, breathless._

_She decided instantly that she loved it._

_His touch sent shivers down her spine, their bodies flush against each other. Involuntarily, she inhaled his sweet, musky scent, tinged with a hint of rum and something that reminded her of the ocean, and reveled in the warmth his embrace provided. The safety his arms made her want to cry in relief_ _—but the swirl of emotions she read in his eyes made her want to run and hide._

_In that one, single moment, she realized that Killian Jones—Captain Hook—was the most dangerous person she would ever encounter_ _—he already had the power to completely break her; he’d made her believe in a happy ending again, and he could take that belief away far easier than he had given it._

_It felt almost as though they’d been spelled—she couldn’t move away; she couldn’t remember why she couldn’t do this—all she wanted was to burrow further into his embrace, his warmth, his safety and never let go again._

_Goosebumps were jumping up on her skin wherever he touched her, his eyes burning into hers._

_His breathing—along with her own—grew heavier, his breath washing over her lips, sending shivers down her spine. Emma found herself in awe of his ... everything—he was so handsome; so good; so inevitably_ hers _—before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers were already travelling up, tracing his lips, his jaw, the soft locks in the nape of his neck._

_His hook rested lightly on the small of her back, and she shivered at the cool touch of the appendage on the strip of bare skin where her top had ridden up. His lips were only a hair’s breadth from hers, and she felt as though she might die if he didn’t kiss her right there and then—he was everywhere, flooding every single one of her senses._

_She was floored by how much she_ wanted _him to kiss her. She wasn’t quite courageous enough to kiss him; it would just prove that he had been right all along, and she really didn’t want to admit that yet, so she allowed him to lead on this one, even if he was frustrating the hell out of her._

_She was already breathing heavily again, her fingers tangling in his dark locks. “Killian,” she breathed, her voice soft, fleeting, “Please…”_

_He merely smiled, moving in so this time, his lips brushed over hers._

_A soft, warm breeze washed over the clearing and them, and Killian leaned back just an inch, his eyes shining with something that scared her so deeply, so intensely that she wanted nothing more than to run away—to hide, to push him so far, he’d never be able to claim her heart._

_A sudden chill ran down Emma’s spine as a harsh voice snapped through her heavy, confused, pained thoughts. “Well, isn't this adorable?” They pulled apart, though she kept her gaze trained on Killian, whose wide, slightly startled eyes were fixed on something behind her._

_She turned around, all-too-aware of his hand and hook holding her as close as he could, and her eyes widened in surprise. Right there, in front of her, an angry, rage-filled expression on her face, stood Cora._

_She tilted her head to the side, and a sinister smile played her thin lips. “Hook, my dear captain… How you have fallen.” Emma felt Killian tense behind her, his hand tightening its grip on her hip, as though he was afraid she would simply charge at Cora._

_She admitted to herself, disgruntled, that thought did cross her mind for a moment._

_“I’m afraid I have no clue what you’re talking about, Cora,” her pirate quipped, “But feel free to enlighten me. I’m sure you would anyway.”_

_The witch smirked. “Oh, but surely you two figured out how you got out of that little cell by yourselves, didn’t you? Tut, tut, Captain,” Cora grinned, wagging her finger at him, as though he were a naughty four-year-old, caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Replacing Milah so easily, are we? She would be_ so _disappointed in you.”_

_Emma felt Killian wince, and tried to suppress her own wince—that was a low blow. Using Milah was downright cruel._

_“You have no idea of what you speak,” Killian spat, stepping away from Emma, who tried not to wince at his physical_ and _emotional withdrawal. “I loved Milah.”_

_Cora shook her head. “Oh dear. Obviously you did not—if you would have, Rumpelstiltskin would be dead, and you would never have gotten involved with dear Emma.” Emma nearly growled when she saw Killian’s shoulders tense—she knew that whatever was happening between them, it was hard for him too; and she got it…_

_Falling in love again after losing someone you loved always felt like a betrayal at first._

Woah. _She backtracked her own thoughts and frowned._ Who the hell was talking about falling in love?

_“Emma being my True Love does not change anything,” Killian growled—she tried not to let that get to her—, “I love Milah—I always will. This does not mean I will love Milah any less.”_

_Ouch._

_That stung._

_More than she ever expected it to._

_Of course, she should’ve known. She was second choice. Damaged goods. Never good enough._

_Even her True Love didn’t love her more than he loved the woman before her. She snorted and shook her head._

_The irony of that thought didn’t escape her, and she instantly lost her patience. She didn’t want to hear this—she just wanted that fucking witch to disappear from their lives already. She waited until Cora’s back was turned, somehow hoping that could give her some kind of advantage, and lunged._

_Before she could blink,  she seemingly slammed into a solid wall. Her_ _head was aching; her limbs heavy and her thoughts slow and confused. She couldn’t move, and her head was still spinning –she wasn’t sure what was going anymore._

_She vaguely heard someone call out her name, and wondered why they sounded so worried—she was good at fighting; she could take Cora._

_Couldn’t she?_

_The haze cleared suddenly, like a veil being lifted from before her eyes, and she realized what was going on. Magic—she supposed she saw Killian’s point now. Being bested by magic really did feel like cheating._

_She raised her gaze to meet Cora’s, seeing the mirth glinting in those cold, emotionless eyes._

_That heartless bitch._

_“My dear,” Cora laughed, “You didn’t think that would work, did you?” She managed a wry smile and rolled her eyes. “Was worth a shot though.”_

_Cora leaned closer to her, her hand resembling a claw more than anything as she moved towards Emma’s chest. Her eyes widened when she realized Cora’s intent, and she started struggling against her magical bonds._

_No._

_She wasn’t going to let Cora take her heart—she needed it; she needed her heart to guide her back to Henry, to Charming, to Storybrooke._

_It couldn’t end like this._

_She looked up into Cora’s cold, emotionless eyes defiantly. “Do your worst,” she hissed, “It’s you or me. I am never going to let you get to Storybrooke.”_

_She ignored Killian’s cries behind her, trying not to show her utter discomfort at the panic in his voice. She didn’t want to think about Hook now—she needed all her attention for Cora; if she perceived any weakness, she would use it, and though Emma didn’t feel like reflecting on the_ why _of the whole thing, she really didn’t want him to get hurt._

_Cora smirked and narrowed her eyes at Emma, who gasped when the bonds surrounding her tightened, constricting her breathing. Pain exploded all over her body, magic crushing her like the Giant’s too-tight grip had only hours before—she couldn’t think; she could only feel, feel the pain as it seemingly electrified every single one of her nerve ends, her skin burning as though it were on fire._

_She tried to breathe, tried to call out, tried to repel the pain by taking slow, deep breaths, but found her airways blocked. Her vision blurred, Cora’s gaze being the last thing she saw clearly, the thin veins in her eyes popping under the pressure._

_She was dying._

_A deep, gut wrenching kind of fear washed over her. She was going to die here, in the Enchanted Forest, far from her son, far from her father and mother, and the people she had grown to care for._

_Even Hook._

_She wished she would have kissed him one more time, because she did care for him; she did trust him. Just not enough to tell him just yet._

_She regretted that._

_She regretted not being able to kiss Henry goodbye._

_She regretted not listening to Mary-Margret and Mulan—that she and Killian came alone._

_She tried to blink, tried to blink away the blood that obscured her vision, but couldn’t. She was fading. Fast._

_She couldn’t fight it anymore._

_So she didn’t._

_For the first time in years, she gave into the beckoning abyss of nothingness. The last thing she thought of was how she wished she could have introduced Henry to the pirate; she would have loved to see them together._

_And then, the world went black._

_._

_._

_._

Emma shook off the memory and sighed.

The hesitation, the fear she had felt back then was still there; she still had moments in which she believed Killian would up and leave her as soon as he could.

She knew for sure he still loved Milah—she couldn’t possibly compare, and she hated that; but there wasn’t anything to do about it. Milah was long gone and Killian was with her, Emma, now, as he told her so many times. She wanted to believe him, but it was so damn hard.

She sighed and shook off her thoughts. She pulled another file towards her, and tried to focus on the job she was supposed to be doing, when the phone interrupted her once again.

She jumped slightly at the loud noise before shaking her head and answering. “Sheriff’s station,” she said dully, her thoughts still on her newly resurfacing doubts over her relationship with a certain blue-eyed captain.

“Hi mom!”

A weight lifted from her shoulders as she heard the cheerful note in her son’s voice, and she leaned back in her chair, smiling despite the darkness and heaviness of her thoughts.

“Hey kid. Tell me you two didn’t burn down the house. Again.”

She heard Henry laugh and Killian scoff and grinned. Last time she had worked late, Killian and Henry had tried to make hot cocoa for her, and nearly set the kitchen on fire with the stove. “Nah,” Henry laughed, “We just finished watching Peter Pan. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

Her heart swelled at the youthful innocence that radiated from his voice and she couldn’t fight the tiny smile that tugged on her lips. She prayed that he didn’t have to lose that innocence too early—she had, and that had been one of the reasons Neal had broken her so easily.

She’d lost that sweet, innocent smile Henry shot her whenever she bid him goodnight when she was twelve; and she didn’t want it back—but she wanted her son to keep it for as long as he could.

“That’s sweet, Henry,” she smiled. She heard Killian mutter something in the background and the sound of the television being turned off. It made her smile—Killian wasn’t really fond of the ‘magic picture box’ and only watched when Henry begged him to.

“Oh, and Killian promised to tell me about the mermaids today!” Henry cheered. She tensed up instantly, her senses on high alert. She felt ridiculous, being worried about things Killian would say to her son, because he had always been nothing but responsible around Henry, keeping his infuriating innuendos to himself, but something about hearing Henry mention mermaids just rubbed her the wrong way.

“Did he now?” She hissed, trying to keep her voice light and cheery, for Henry’s sake, “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from an amazing story like that, would I?”

Henry laughed—that lifted her dark thoughts for a moment—and replied, “Okay mom. Goodnight!” She smiled and said, “Goodnight Henry. Can you put Killian on?” Henry muttered something in agreement and she listened vaguely to the rustling on the other end as the phone changed hands and Henry reminded Killian to talk, not scream.

“‘Ello love,” Killian voice drifted through the speaker, somehow managing to draw an automatic response from her body despite their distance. She shook her head and remembered her earlier anger at the mention of Henry’s bedtime story.

“Mermaids, Killian? Really?”

He chuckled—infuriating her even more—and responded, “Is that envy I hear in your lovely voice, lass?”

“No!” She exclaimed, silently fuming, “I am not jealous! Why, do I have something to be jealous of?” She couldn’t explain where her sudden anger came from, and she wanted to believe that she was just tired and cranky—even though she did realize there was most likely an underlying reason for her sudden anger.

She rolled her eyes at his laughter and shook her head. “Oh lass,” he laughed, “Of course you do not. Only woman for me, is you.”

She blushed lightly—she hated how he made her blush so easily—and smiled too. “You sound like you’re in a better mood,” she remarked, thinking back to his earlier gloomy mood.

“I am,” he said, “I remember, love. I remember something that could help us find her.” She shot up, her eyes wide. “You do? Killian, that’s great! What is it?”

He took a deep breath, as she tried to regulate her own breathing—this was big. Whatever it was, he was excited about it, meaning it could be crucial to find Penelope. “A necklace,” he finally said, sounding oddly faraway. “I gave her a ring on her sixth birthday,” he said softly, and she winced at the note melancholy in his voice, “It was a family heirloom; my mothers. A silver signet ring. The seal was dark blue, with a large, rope-wrapped anchor.”

He sighed, “It was too large for her, so she wore it on a necklace. Wherever she is, I know she’ll still have it. And if she’s…” He choked slightly and she bit her lip—she hated how pained he sounded, and she wanted to wrap him up in her arms to keep him from being hurt—, whispering, “Killian…”

He ignored her and continued, his voice slightly stronger than it had been before, “If she’s gone… Her family, or friends will have it. We can use that.” She swallowed back the tears that burned in her eyes and nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, “Okay, I’ll remember. Thank you, Killian. It really helps.”

She knew he was nodding, even though he didn’t speak for a full minute, and she was well-aware of how pained and emotional he felt right now. “Killian?” She said softly, hoping she didn’t snap him from his thoughts too violently.

“Aye lass?”

She smiled softly and swallowed her fears and doubts for a moment. “I love you.” Because she did—she loved him, no matter how scary it was.

“And I you, love,” he replied, she could hear the smile in his voice. “Will you be late?”

She groaned and ran her hand through her hair. “Yeah, most likely. Don’t wait up. I’ll be there for breakfast.”

“Alright love—but I will be very _cold_ and _lonely_ in our bed tonight.” She rolled her eyes at the blatant invitation and smirked. “I’m sure you’ll manage _one_ night without me. You wouldn’t be much of a fearsome pirate if you can’t spend one night without your love.”

“Oy!” He exclaimed, “I’ll have you know, love, that I am indeed a very fearsome pirate. But I do so enjoy it more when you are in the bed with me. Preferably with significantly _less_ clothes than usual.”

She sputtered indignantly. “Killian! Henry!”

He laughed loudly, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, lass. He’s already upstairs. I should go tell him about those vivacious mermaids, should I not, love?”

She pouted and sighed. “I suppose you should. I’ll go back to drowning myself in paperwork.” He laughed again. “Do not drown yourself too much love, I fear I am rather attached to you. Goodnight, Emma.”

She smiled. “Goodnight Killian.”

She hung up and smiled to herself. Somehow, speaking to Killian and Henry had lifted her spirits, breaking through her dark thoughts from before.

With a slight smile, she turned back to her paperwork, busying herself once more.

She was broken from her concentration hours later, when the sun had already set, and the door to the station opened quietly. She glanced at the clock and frowned.

It was ten PM already. Who the hell would come in at ten PM?

She sighed and put down the papers she was holding, getting up to welcome whoever it was. She looked up and froze as her eyes met a pair of dark, hazel eyes she never thought she would have to see again.

“Hi Emma.”

Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins and she stood frozen to the ground, disbelief and anger fighting to get the upper hand in her confused mind.

“Neal."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Killian**

“And so I managed to escape that devilish siren’s claws,” Killian concluded dramatically, smiling when Henry nearly rolled off the bed laughing. “Settle down, lad,” he laughed, “Your mom would never forgive me if I let you laugh yourself to death.”

“Hmmm,” Henry grinned, crawling back under the thick plush comforter and laying back. “Killian? Can I ask you something?” Killian smiled and nodded. “Ask away, lad.”

“Do you love my mom?” Killian’s eyes widened slightly at the direct question, but smirked nonetheless. The lad was too much like his mother at times—always going straight for the core of the matter; no dancing around the subject.

It was a trait he appreciated in the both of them.

“Aye, I do, Henry,” he answered, “Very much so. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” the lad nodded enthusiastically, “I am. You make her smile and you’re pretty cool—you know, for someone who’s supposed to be evil.”

He laughed heartily at that. “If that’s all you wanted to know, lad, you should go to sleep. Your mother’ll skin me alive if you’re up too late.”

Henry rolled his eyes and smirked—for a moment, he looked so much like Emma, it made Killian’s heart ache—, “No, actually, I kinda want to ask you something else.. It’s just…” Killian took pity on the stuttering boy and smiled.

“Spit it out, lad. What is it?”

“How do you tell a girl you like her?” he blurted out, his cheeks red, his eyes lowered to the comforter. Killian smirked. “A girl, Henry? Tell me about her.”

Henry looked up, the blush still apparent on his cheeks, but his eyes sparkling. “Well, she’s really pretty, and she has really beautiful blue eyes, kind of like the sky after it’s rained, you know? And she has long black curly hair, but when the sun shines, there’s this amazing reddish brown shine to it, and—,” Killian listened as Henry rambled on and on about the girl he liked, smiling at the boy’s twinkling eyes.

This girl had to be special, to have Henry so completely wrapped around her finger.

“She’s really funny,” Henry suddenly exclaimed, “and she’s really good at drawing stuff, so she always helps me in Art, because I’m not that good, and she always smiles at me and…” Henry heaved a deep sigh, a wistful smile that did not suit his age on his lips.

“I’m in love, Killian.”

Killian nearly burst into laughter at Henry’s exclamation and felt his own heart clench, remembering the very first time he had fancied a lass.

“Well, she sounds like an amazing lass, Henry. What’s her name? It’s not Jefferson’s lass, is it?” Henry shook his head.

“No, it’s mom’s friend’s daughter. Elena, her name is Elena. Did you know that it means ‘light’ in Italian? It’s a really pretty name, isn’t it? Just like her. And I want to tell her, because there’s lots of other boys at school who like her, and I don’t want her to be anyone else’s girlfriend, but what if she doesn’t like me back?”

Killian chuckled at the utter despair in Henry’s voice and shook his head. “Well, isn’t she the lass your mom told me about? The Friday night sleepover lass?”

Henry nodded, his nose scrunched up in the same adorable way Emma did.

“She seems to like you, doesn’t she? Or was I imagining that kiss she gave you before she walked home when I picked you up from school?” If it were at all possible, Henry blushed an even deeper shade of red and muttered something about cooties—Killian had no idea what that meant, but he assumed it wasn’t good.

“You should just tell her then, lad,” he shrugged, “seems to me like the lass likes you already.”

Henry looked up at him through his lashes and bit his lips. “Really? You think so?” Killian grinned and nodded, patting the boy’s shoulder affectionately. “Aye, I do, lad. Now, get some sleep, so you’ll be well rested and prepared to tell your Elena lass that you like her.”

Henry nodded eagerly and burrowed under the sheets and comforter until only his nose and eyes were visible. Killian smiled and turned to leave the room.

“Killian?”

He turned and leaned on the doorframe. “Aye, lad?”

“I like that you’re here,” Henry yawned, “It’s nice having a dad.” Killian’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before joy overtook his heart. “I like being here too, lad.”

“Good,” Henry smiled, “Goodnight Killian.”

Killian smiled briefly and muttered, “Night, lad,” before turning, switching off the lights and leaving Henry’s bedroom, the boy’s words still ringing in his ears.

.

.

.

Killian lounged on the bed he shared with Emma, lazily thumbing through a small, old book he had found in Emma’s nightstand. Occasionally, he  would glance at the clock, sigh  and go back to reading. He loathed how much he missed Emma when she spent the night at the station—the irony of his True Love being a sheriff wasn’t lost on the pirate—and how dependent he was on her, but he really did sleep better when she was next to him.

She kept the nightmares at bay.

He tossed the book back onto the nightstand and dropped his head back onto the pillows, his hand fiddling with the chords that tied his ‘sweatpants’, as Emma had called them. After nearly four months in this world, there were still certain aspects of daily life he hadn’t quite accustomed to.

Clothing from this realm being one of those things. He preferred his leather over those ‘jeans’ Emma made him wear.

He thought about what Henry had said earlier and winced at the pang to his heart—he had a new family; even a son—but it still felt like he was betraying his first family; Milah and Penelope had a special place in his heart, and at times, it felt like he was trying to replace them with Emma and Henry; even though that was the furthest thing from the truth.

He rolled his eyes at the thought and redirected his thoughts to the memory he had regained earlier; the ring he had given Penelope.

He hoped it would be significant enough to help them find his daughter—he missed her terribly and wished for nothing more than to find her; even if he had been too late.

He was snapped from his thoughts by the soft sound of the front door opening and closing—he shot up and crept out the bed, his hook at the ready, softly sneaking into the living room. Whoever thought it was a good idea to come in here in the middle of the night was a bloody moron.

He’d promised Emma he’d keep her lad safe, and he would.

The intruder was nearly as silent as he was, and hadn’t turned on a single light, which would most certainly aid him with the element of surprise. Leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door, he painted a lazy smirk on his face—that he knew tended to scare people—and flicked the light switch.

Light suddenly blared all through the apartment, and he was stunned to see who was in the apartment.

“Emma?”

He frowned and dropped the stance immediately. He felt worry worm it’s way into the pit of his stomach as he took in her appearance. Her hair was mussed, looking like she’d been running her fingers through it endlessly, her eyes red rimmed, as though she’d been crying, and her lower lip a little red and swollen.

Before he could think about the right move to make, he was in front of her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Love, what’s wrong? Why are you home already?”

She was silent, and didn’t meet his eye—and that alone worried him so much, he felt as though he were to be sick.

Emma wasn’t silent.

Without even thinking about it, he dropped his hand from her cheek and took her hand in his, tugging at it gently, leading her to their bedroom. She followed him meekly, and he closed the door behind her, still not sure what was going on. He turned around to find her standing in the middle of the room, looking rather lost.

Until her eyes finally found his.

He nearly shivered under the intensity of her gaze as it travelled down to his bare chest as she licked her lips subconsciously. Her eyes darkened considerably, and he had an increasingly difficult time reminding himself that there was actually something wrong, that he really shouldn’t want to throw her against any surface in the room and ravish her.

So, trying to ignore the look in her eyes, he asked—again—, “What’s wrong?”

He briefly wondered what would be so horrible that she went into a near catatonic state—it scared him too. His Swan was one of the strongest people he had ever met. He wished not to know what did this to her.

She opened her mouth as though to answer him, but no words came out, and instead, she leaned closer, her eyes now so dark, they were almost black with lust. Killian swallowed thickly, trying his hardest not to succumb to his own lust. Suddenly, she leaned in completely, closing the distance between them so fast, he hardly had the opportunity to realize what she was doing before her lips smashed onto his.

Panting, he tore his lips from hers before he lost himself completely, holding her at arm’s length, and glared at her. She was the one who wanted to take this slow; she knew better than to do this to him. “What are you doing, Emma?” He all but growled, his voice low and gravelly.

She bit her lip and replied—her voice husky and tainted with sheer desire—, “What do you think I’m doing?” She attempted to kiss him again.

He desperately tried to find a reasonable explanation for the situation he suddenly found himself in, while still trying to dodge his Swan’s attempts to capture his lips. “Are you drunk?” He questioned, holding up his hand in warning.

She actually giggled a little and replied, “Don’t I wish.” She took a step closer again, attempting to move around his outstretched arm, still desperate to get as closer to him as she possibly could. He had to remind himself time and again why he had to keep her at bay—damn him and his promises to her—, because there was a part of him—an unfortunate dominant part—that was just screaming at him to stop being a bloody moron and ravish her already.

Clearly she wanted him to.

 He wanted to.

What on earth was the problem here?

Something happened, he reminded himself. She was upset, something was wrong. And they weren’t ready for this.

He took a step back again, carefully trying to maintain the oh-so-necessary distance between the both of them. She stopped suddenly and looked up at him with those large, beautiful eyes, hurt displayed on her hauntingly perfect features. “I thought you wanted—” she hesitated, “You don’t want me anymore?”

He stopped and stared at the woman that had haunted his dreams, fantasies and thoughts ever since they met.

Of course he wanted her.

Bloody hell, she was perfect! She was beautiful, sexy, enthralling and he had to use every bit of self-control not to jump her right there and then.

And that look in her eye really wasn’t helping his plight.

Not. One. Bit.

He summoned all self-restraint he possessed and managed to choke, “Emma, love, I do not know what is amiss, but we cannot ignore it. I do not wish for our first time to be spoiled by hurt and anger. We both deserve more than that.”

She pouted, and he wanted nothing more than just close the distance between them and nibble on those perfect rose lips, but he knew he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

Emma shook her head and reached up, her fingers trailing over his cheek, an electric current surging through his body as their skin touched, annihilating every rational thought in his mind. The only thing he wanted—craved even—was her touch.

He needed to be as close to her as he possibly could be.

“This is you and me,” she whispered, “like it always has been. I want you, Killian.  _Take me_.” Those words broke his resolve. He had wanted this for so long; there was simply no way to decline now. He needed her.

He ached for her.

Slowly, he let his hand slide up her arm, eager to touch every inch of her silky skin—never had he hated the loss of his left hand more than at this particular moment—, his eyes boring into hers, the heat between them reaching such heights, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the room caught on fire around them.

His hand reached her soft, silky, beautiful hair, and he could not resist waving his fingers in the golden locks, pulling her in, every single one of his fantasies over the last couple of months seemingly coming true in that one, defining moment.

Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he leaned down, his hand cupping her cheek, his lips agonizingly close to hers, but not yet touching. He could feel their breaths mingling and shivered in anticipation—this was going to be even more mind-blowing than he had ever imagined.

Still intent on making their first time memorable, for the both of them, he brushed his lips past hers, nearly jumping at the intensity of the brief and fleeting contact. He leaned back a bit, his breathing already heavier, studying her face for any signs of regret, even though he knew, deep down, that he would find none.

She bit her lip and swallowed, before whispering, “Do you love me?” He nearly growled at the question. “I—,” he replied, pulling her closer again, their eye contact so intense he thought he might turn into a puddle of goo right there and then, “—love you more than life itself, darling.”

She smiled a little, and something glimmered in her eyes. “You do? Really?” He felt a smile spread across his own lips and whispered, “I love you so much, it hurts me sometimes.” Her smile could’ve lit up the darkest night, and completely shattered every ounce of self-control he had left. He leaned in and captured her lips with his.

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Every single nerve in his body seemed to be on high alert, and he was all-too-aware of Emma’s sinfully delicious body pressed against his. His skin burned where it touched hers, and he was immensely pleased as she responded to his kiss with equal burning passion. He had never been kissed like this before—scratch that, he had never before felt something that could even compare to this.

Even their earlier kisses and passionate encounters faded in comparison to this one.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tangling with hers, both wrestling for dominance. Her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, his hands leisurely wandering over her body. He traced circles on the small of her back with his hook, the other tangled in the silky golden tresses of her hair. Every time he moved his tongue against hers, she let out a soft mewl of contentment that sent hot surges of lust straight to his groin.

His heartbeat was so fast, he was pretty sure he might suffer from heart failure if she’d stop kissing him anytime soon.

 And he meant that.

He never wanted to stop kissing her—he wanted to kiss every inch over her perfect body, worship her until she wouldn’t be able to walk anymore, make her scream his name over and over again.

When he tilted his head slightly to the right, changing the angle to their kiss, she positively purred, and his resolve to take this slow was thrown out of the window. He needed her completely, and he needed her now.

He let his hand slide down, lingering at the soft swell of her breast to cup it slightly—she moaned against his lips in response—before sliding down to the hem of her shirt, pushing it up slowly, exposing inch by inch of creamy skin.

Finally, after an agonizingly long period, he managed to get the bloody shirt off, and tossed it onto the floor, reconnecting his lips with hers as soon as he could again. While they kissed, he fumbled with the button on her jeans, finally managing to push it down her hips. She broke the kiss slowly for breathing necessities, panting heavily against his lips. He leaned his forehead against hers and tried to slow his breathing too.

He ran his fingers up and down her side, satisfied with the goose bumps that formed on her skin in response to his touch, and leaned closer again, his lips inches from hers, her warm skin pressed against his. She let a shaky laugh fall from her lips before he abruptly cut her off with his lips again, his hands diving into her hair again, pulling her body closer to his as they stumbled back in the general direction of their bed.

They broke apart for a short moment to breathe, and Killian felt the back of his legs bump against the edge of his bed.  Slowly, his hands resting on Emma’s hips, he sat back on the bed, pulling her into his lap instantly, missing the connection between their bodies immediately. She grinned cheekily at him and tilted her head down so their lips could once again meet in an equally teasing yet passionate kiss. Her tongue pressed softly against the seam of his lips, suddenly dominating the kiss. He would never admit it out loud, but a dominant Emma was an even bigger turn on than her sweet, innocent side—the side he knew she possessed, but rarely ever showed, even to him.

So, resigning to her dominance, he wound his fingers in her hair and opened his mouth slightly, letting her tongue slip in and ravage his mouth. He shivered as her fingers grazed over his nipple. Arousal slammed through his body, and his heart was pounding so loudly, he was surprised she couldn’t hear it.

She broke the kiss rather abruptly, moaning when he traced his lips down the column of her troath, sucking and biting down in the right places. She nearly growled as he sucked on a particularly sensitive piece of skin. He prayed she wouldn’t take immediate notice of his body’s reaction to her sexy as hell little growl.

“Emma,” he breathed against her neck, grazing his teeth on her skin. She moaned again, tugging at his hair softly, bringing his lips up to meet hers again. “Killian,” she breathed against his lips, and it took him a split-second to gather his bearings after how goddamn sexy his name sounded falling from her lips. “I love you,” he muttered between kisses, letting her push him down onto the bed, her hands roaming his naked chest, “And I mean to have you tonight.”

She looked down on him, her eyes large and darkened with lust, biting her lip ever so sexily as she whispered, “Do you now?”

He felt a smile tugging at his lips and he traced her cheek with his finger sweetly. She leaned into his touch, making the smile break through on his lips. She could see through every carefully built wall he built around himself to protect himself from heartbreak—it made him feel vulnerable and strong at the same time. “Oh, I do, my dear Swan,” he smirked, “I most certainly do.”

He met her gaze dead-on and smiled at the love he saw in her eyes—he knew she’d see it mirrored in his. “I found my peace when I found you,” he whispered, suddenly fully aware of how true this was, leaning up to kiss her again, and flipping them so she was beneath him at the same time.

He crashed his lips on hers again, letting his hands explore her body as she took the same liberties with his body. When he felt her nails digging into the skin of his chest, it shot a bolt of boiling, searing lust straight to his groin, reminding him just how much he wanted her. How badly he wanted to be one with her. How he never wanted to let her go. He didn’t just want to bed her—he wanted to worship every inch of her perfect, extremely sexy body.

He broke the kiss again, only to kiss his way down her neck, licking at her pulse point as he let his fingers trace the lace of her underwear, stroking her softly through the flimsy material. She moaned his name loudly, twisting her fingers in his hair, silently begging for more.   
The thought alone made him even harder than he already was, but he complied nonetheless as she bucked her hips against his hand, slipping his fingers inside of her underwear, gently touching her folds.

He growled against her sensitive skin when he felt just how wet she was. He cursed softly, muttering her name over and over again, as if it were his own personal prayer. “Please,” Emma pleaded, “Killian, please…”

He breathed out shakily, but knew what she wanted—what she needed. He slipped one long finger into her tight channel and nearly came on the spot when he felt how tight she was. Regardless, he moved his finger inside of her and pressed his thumb against her clit softly, drawing soft circles, massaging her gently as she continued moan his name, over and over again.

In response he could only repeat her name—as if he was stuck on repeat. He could no longer remember any other words than her name. No words that actually mattered anyway.

She tugged at his hair in aggravation—he was moving too slow to make her come, and he loved every minute of driving her crazy with desire for him. He grinned against her throat, pressing down a fleeting kiss before slipping another finger inside of her and increasing his speed ever so slightly. The sounds that escaped her lips as he fingered her made him so hard and so hot, he was actually afraid of bursting into flames at any moment.

“Oh God, Killian,” she moaned loudly when he added a third finger and sped up, pressing down on her clit a little harder. He leaned up and pressed his lips onto hers, feeling her release lingering just out of reach. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers, increasing his thrusting fingers. Her juices were now dripping onto his entire hand, making it all the easier for him to slip in and out of her tight hole.

He pressed down on her clit and she exploded beneath him, riding his fingers as hard as she could, moaning into his mouth, digging her fingernails into his back. He helped her ride out her orgasm and smiled into the kiss as she relaxed beneath him. “Wow,” she breathed when he leaned back to breathe, “That was—“

He smirked smugly. “Aye love, it was,” he whispered in reply, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet, soft kiss, his body still aching for her.

As she reached for the hem of his pants, he reached for the clasp of the corset-like contraption she wore, attempting to pull it from her chest, to completely bare her to his eager eyes. He lost his patience before long and rolled his eyes, praying she wasn’t too attached to the garment, as he lifted his hook to slice through the lacy material.

“Killian!” She exclaimed, “I liked that bra!” He caught her scolding gaze, and smirked cheekily, “It was in my way, love.” She shook her head with a slightly dazed smile on her lips, and he felt a sudden burst of male pride at her sated expression.

She used his distraction to flip them again, pushing him into the mattress as she straddled him, her hot, wet heat pressing against him. She smirked impishly at him, sending another hot bolt of lust down to his groin—and he was done waiting.

He pushed her up slightly, so she was kneeling over him, and in one, swift move, impaled her on his length. Her walls were still fluttering from her orgasm and provided a delicious friction against his hard length.

“Fuck, Killian!” Emma exclaimed, while a guttural groan fell from his own lips. With the wetness from her orgasm, he was able to slide to the hilt in one thrust. He paused to allow Emma to adjust to his size and the abrupt penetration.

“Move, love,” he moaned, rolling his hips up slightly, desperate for more friction. He was breathing heavily, but smiled when she planted her hands firmly on his chest and started moving up and down on his length. She swiveled her hips in a circle—Killian’s eyes rolled back in his head at the delicious friction.

He leaned up suddenly—Emma crying out at the sudden change of angle—and kissed his way down her neck onto her chest. He caught a nipple between his lips and used his teeth to tug on it gently, flicking his tongue across the bud, moaning at the sweet flavor of her skin.

He loved how soft and pliant her body felt in his arms—and how determined and deliberately she moved, wringing every ounce of pleasure from him. She started bouncing up and down faster, straining the muscles in her legs to keep up the fast rhythm.

Killian brought his hand to her hip, while trailing his hook up and down her spine, aiding her with her fast, delicious moves, thrusting up to meet her every move—she moaned his name loudly; and merely the sound of his name falling from her lips in ecstasy nearly made him come undone.

“Emma,” he moaned in response, tightening his grip on her waist, their gazes locking as their movements slowed, the pleasure so intense, it nearly hurt. The intimacy of their locked gaze wasn’t lost on Killian, and it made everything even more intense.

He had thought he wasn’t ready to share something this intimate with Emma—but he was wrong. He belonged to her, and she belonged to him, and he was certain now, that they were to be together always; he would never let anything get between them anymore.

With the pad of his thumb, he rubbed her clitoris to make her come as quickly as possible, as he realized he would not be able to hold himself together for much longer, and he refused to come before she did.

Suddenly, Emma’s walls clenched around him, pulling him into his own climax simultaneously, their identical moans and cries of completion bouncing off against the bedroom walls.

Both of them were exhausted, panting heavily. Killian fell back against the pillows, cradling Emma’s sweaty body close to his, loving how she wiggled closer to him, resting her head right above his heart.  For a few minutes, they allowed themselves to rest, regulating their heavy breathing.

Killian smiled blissfully, pressing a soft kiss to Emma’s tangled locks and closed his eyes. He had bedded many wenches, barmaids, and even a bloody infuriating pixie once, but never had he felt anything like this.

This was truly what it meant to be connected to another person.

This was what True Love felt like.

He tightened his embrace on her and whispered, ‘I love you, Emma Swan,’ before he allowed himself to be swept away into the blissful nothingness that sleeping with Emma in his arms brought him.

.

.

.

**Emma**

She burrowed deeper into Killian’s embrace, listening to the gentle sound of his breathing slowing and deepening as he fell asleep. She wanted to regret what she had done tonight, but she couldn’t—she knew it had been wrong to sleep with Killian to take her mind off Neal, to attempt to rid herself of his touch, especially because she knew how much it had meant to him.

It wasn’t like it hadn’t meant anything to her—because it had, and it did—but it had been wrong to let it happen like this.

Panic hit her like a freight train once again, and suddenly Killian’s otherwise comforting embrace felt like it was suffocating her.

She needed to get out.

She needed to leave.

Slowly, careful not to wake Killian, she pried herself from his embrace and dressed in the first shirt and pair of shorts she could get her hands on, trying very hard not to freak out—she hated that she could still feel like this.

She hated that Neal could still break her, she hated that she had let him ruin what she had with Killian. Because she had ruined it; Killian was going to leave when he heard about what had happened before she came home.

He would leave, like everyone else.

She glanced back to the pirate in her bed once last time, swallowing thickly, before she turned around and walked out. She wanted to hide away, protect herself—she wanted to find a shower and crawl in, wash away every sign of her weaknesses.

She needed time to rebuild that wall—the wall that had always kept her safe; the wall that would keep her from shattering when Killian would leave.

She looked down at her hands, noting how much they were shaking. She balled her fists, hiding the bruises that were starting to blossom on her palms.

.

.

.

_She couldn’t breathe._

_“Neal?” She choked, “What—how—why?”_

_He smiled at her, the smile that she had loved so much ten years ago—but a smile she could now see through. He was going to try to manipulate her._

_“I came to find you, babe,” he replied simply, grabbing her hands in his before she got the chance to pull away from him. “I love you, and we can be together, now that you broke the curse and fulfilled your destiny.”_

_She stared at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. “No,” she finally managed to choke out, pulling her hands from his rather roughly, walking backwards, “No, you do not get to come back and expect everything to just be okay, Neal!”_

_He shook his head at her, clearly not listening to a word she was saying. “Emma, we can start over now. We can go to Tallahassee, be a family, like we always dreamed of being. We can be us again.”_

_She actually felt nauseous at the mention of being a family with him. She didn’t want Henry anywhere near that man. “There’s no us, Neal, and there’s never going to be an us.” She slammed down the coffee cup she had been holding and walked away from her desk, trying to put as much distance between them as she could._

_“Emma, babe,” Neal followed her—Jeez, that guy really didn’t take a hint, did he?—, “I know you’re upset about what happened, but don’t you think it’s time to forgive me for it? I was doing what was necessary. I was in the way of your destiny. I did what was best for you.”_

_She felt red hot rage boiling up inside of her as she whirled around, her eyes flashing daggers at the man that had held her heart in the palm of his hand and crushed it. “What was best for me?” She hissed. “What was best for me? You left me to rot in jail for_ your _crime! I didn’t believe in the curse when I got here—my son nearly died because I couldn’t believe him! If you truly loved me, and if you knew, why wouldn’t you have helped me? Why leave me to fend for myself?”_

_For a brief moment, she thought she saw something akin to regret flashing through Neal’s dark eyes, but it was gone so quickly, she thought she had to have imagined it. “I love you,” he said again, and the words made her cringe, because as much as she loathed it; there was  a part of her that would always love him—even if she didn’t want to._

_Even if her heart belonged to someone else entirely._

_She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want to see you, Neal. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I have a family, I’m happy. I want you to leave, and never come back, because there is never going to be an us again, no matter what happens.”_

_She took his silence as an admission to her request and nodded, heading back to her desk, ready to forget any of this had happened._

_Instead, she suddenly found herself pressed up against the bars of the cell, Neal pressing his body into hers, one hand holding her hands pinned to the bars above her head, the other cupping her cheek. “I just need to make you remember,” Neal said, his voice so sickly sweet it nearly made her throw up, “I need to make you see how we belong together. How good we always were together. I love you, Emma. Once I get you to remember, we can go back to the way things were before.”_

_“No!” She cried, “Neal, things are never going to go back to the way they used to be. I’m not in love with you anymore. I love someone else, Neal...”  She suppressed the urge to kick him away instantly and looked her ex-boyfriend straight in the eye._

_She needed him to listen—he needed to hear it; before she killed him for being an insufferable asshole and leaving her pregnant in jail._

_Suddenly, the fingers of his free hand curled around her neck, forcing her head back, exposing her neck. He licked her neck, sending shivers of disgust down her spine as she tried to get loose. He let his hands slide to her breasts, cupping them in his hands in a way that felt entirely too wrong._

_She struggled, trying to kick him away, but he immediately let go of her, one hand sliding down to push her legs down, the other to force her face against the bars, so she couldn’t look at him. He kissed down her neck, completely disregarding how she struggled against him._

_Through blurred and teary eyes, she watched him running his thumb over his cheek in a vaguely romantic fashion that made her feel even more sick and disgusted than she already felt.  “Neal, please,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice like she wanted to, “You don’t have to do this—you’re better than this.”_

_But she could see her words falling into deaf ears—Neal was one of the only people who could make her feel this vulnerable, this afraid, and he knew it._

_For the first time in a very long time, she felt genuinely afraid._

_“I will make you remember,” he whispered, “I will make you mine again—I will never let anyone take you from me. You’ll never be hurt again.”_

_“You hurt me!” She exclaimed. “Neal, we’re done! We’ve been done for a decade! I moved on! I have a life!” He faltered and something she couldn’t quite discern flashed in his dark orbs._

_She used his momentary distraction to pull her hands free and cold-cocked him in the face, slamming her knee up into his stomach for good measure. “I’m done with you, Neal Cassidy. If you ever touch me again, I will show you just how much I have changed—and I’ll show you what I’m capable of.”_

_She kicked him one more time, just to be sure the message was clear, before grabbing her jacket and nearly fleeing from the sheriff’s station._

_She needed something to take her mind off of what happened back there. She needed to forget. She needed to burn his touch from her skin._

_She barely registered entering the dark apartment._

_She didn’t hear him until he flicked the lights on._

_And it wasn’t until they were in their bedroom that she realized she had found the only man capable of giving her what she needed._

_._

_._

_._

She could still feel Neal’s touch, even though Killian had quite effectively wiped away most of the filth of Neal’s assault, and she needed it gone.

She needed to feel clean.

She felt like a whore—she slept with Killian to forget about someone else; she _used_ him. She used his love for her to make her forget the hole in her own heart. She winced and choked.

She knew it.

She was incapable of love.

She wasn’t even capable of believing in her True Love.

The shaking had become uncontrollable, and she shivered in disgust—she was disgusted by Neal, she was disgusted by her own actions, she was disgusted by who she had become. She needed to wash it away.

She stumbled to the bathroom, tripping on her way in, her legs no longer able to support her weight. She crawled the rest of the way to the shower, leaning her head back against the shower wall as she raised one arm to turn on the hot water—no cold water added.

It was so hot it burned, soaking through her clothes within seconds, but the burn felt good. The burn was a kind of pain that didn’t feel like it was about to destroy her.

She didn’t think anymore.

She didn’t feel.

She just sat under the scalding hot spray and cried, loathing herself for the mistakes she made, loathing herself for ruining the best relationship she had ever had and that she ever would have. She ignore the deep red marks that started to form on her skin, the tears running down her cheeks mixing with the water that cascaded down from the showerhead.

She was filth.

She was stupid, for believing that her life was falling into place, for believing that maybe, she could be loved again.

Emma was overwhelmed by the pain she felt, couldn’t push it back anymore, couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel anything.

So she gave in.

And she cried.

And cried.

Until she had nothing left to cry about—until there was nothing left within her.

She was empty.

And it didn’t hurt anymore.

.

.

.

Somewhere secluded in the woods, two people sat by a small, warm, crackling fire, staring each other down. “You said you could help me, my dear,” the elder of the two spoke, the underlying anger and threat seeping into her voice. “I did not seek you out so you could get distracted by past… Mistakes of yours.”

The second shook her head and smiled bitterly. “We can both benefit here. I want him, you want her. All we need to do is work together. You have to trust me. I got you this far, didn’t I?” Cora leaned forward eagerly and smiled. “I am here for my daughter. How is the pirate involved with that?”

Her companion merely smiled and replied, “I have faith in our combined abilities. We can both get what we want here. But first, we need them to believe they have nothing left; and then, they’ll come running back to us.”

Cora smiled cruelly. “We break them?”

A nod in confirmation made her smirk grow. “We break them.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**Killian**

He awoke to sunlight streaming into the room. He was resting comfortably on a mountain of pillows, the sheets twisted loosely around his body—and he was alone. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow once again.

It could not have been a dream, could it?

He scoffed internally—of course it could.

Having Emma blow off her late shift just to come home and run straight into his arms did sound all too good to be true. With an indignant huff, he dropped his head back onto the pillows and ran his hand over the sheets next to him.

They were cold.

So either he really had imagined the entire night—which he really didn’t think was true; he didn’t have _that_ good an imagination—or Emma had gotten up long before him.

He wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed by that thought.

The memory of the previous night brought a smile upon his lips, even though he still wasn’t convinced it had been real—he was still 50 % sure it had been a dream.

A great, sexy, marvelous dream—but a dream nonetheless.

He was broken from his thoughts by the soft click of the bedroom door, followed by the soft patter of footsteps heading straight for the bed.

“Killian?” He rubbed his eyes tiredly when he realized it was Henry, and sat up, making sure he was still covered by the sheets from the waist down.

“Morning lad.” He glanced at the alarm clock on Emma’s nightstand and frowned. “It’s bloody early, Henry. What are you doing up?” Henry crawled up on the bed with him and yawned. “I dunno. I heard the shower run and thought mom might be in there, but the door is locked and no one answers when I knock.”

Killian frowned at that. Emma never locked the door—she never had.

Damn it, he didn’t even know that door _had_ a lock.

Gently, he patted Henry’s shoulder. “Why don’t you try to get some more sleep, lad. I’ll go see why your mother locked the door.” Henry nodded sleepily, his eyelids drooping already, as he snuggled deeper in Emma’s pillow.

Killian rolled his eyes lightly and stepped out of the bed, pulling his sweatpants back on quickly before tiptoeing out of the bedroom, towards the bathroom.

As he approached the door, still unsure of what was going on exactly, he could hear the shower run. He tried to come up with multiple reasons for Emma to come in late last night, everything that had happened between them—not that he was complaining—and then to lock herself in the bathroom after he had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t think of anything that even remotely made sense.

“Emma?” He knocked on the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, “Emma, love, are you okay?” He was met with nothing but silence at the other side of the door, the sound of water drops pelting down on the tiled floor unnaturally loud in his ears.

Worry grew like a tight, painful ball in the pit of his stomach as he called out for Emma three more times—his anxiety growing with every bout of silence that met his words.   
A strong of curses fell from his lips as he fell to his knees, lifting his hook to pick that damn lock—this was not the kind of morning he had imagined, and he would be damned if he didn’t get into that sodding bathroom and find out what the hell was going on here.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

And he froze.

Once, he had been blessed by thinking that nothing he would ever see would hurt him more than the sight of Milah dying in his arms. He had thought that, even though he loved Emma far more than he had ever loved Milah, he would never feel that degree of fear, of pain again.

He had prayed every night for three hundred years, prayed that he would never have to feel that amount of loneliness, of betrayal, of hurt again, because he couldn't live through more. He couldn't.

And he had believed he wouldn't have to anymore either.

Because Emma was different.

Emma was stronger, more resilient, and Emma would _always_ fight for them—she would fight anything and anyone and she would win.

But the feeling that overwhelmed him when the bathroom door finally swung open was something he could not describe.

Something he wasn't sure he would recover from.

He stared for a second, his eyes glued to the woman in the shower stall, curled up against the wall, her head resting motionlessly against the cold glass. Her hair stuck to her skin, covering her shoulders and eyes, but not enough to hide the blossoming bruises that were forming on her pale, nearly luminescent skin.

He stumbled inside instantly, pushing aside his shock and nausea, nearly breaking the faucet in his haste to turn off the freezing water that was cascading down on her.

“Emma?” His voice was broken, no more than a whisper, and it was all he could produce.

He perused her form slowly, almost unable to believe this was the same woman he had held so many times before, the same woman he had spent hours pleasuring last night, the woman that held his heart in a grasp so tight, he feared he might never get it back.

And he didn't want it either.

“Gods, Emma,” he breathed, his eyes widening in horror when he took in the bruises that were forming on her upper arms and wrists, the angry, red welts that marred her perfect skin. She was shaking, but she didn't respond to him at all, which made the lump in his throat all the harder to swallow.

He needed to move her, he realized, her lips were tingeing blue, and that was not good.

“Henry!” He yelled over his shoulder, beyond caring if he scared the boy, he needed him in here now.

He turned his attention back to Emma, laying her down on the cold tile floor, softly patting her cheeks, hoping that he could somehow wake her, make her explain what was going on.

“Come on, Emma,” he choked, “Wake up.” He found comfort in the fact that, even though she was definitely out of it and not coming to anytime soon, she was still breathing. He ignored how badly he was shaking himself and lifted her in his arms—fighting the dreadful and near-painful urge to sink to his knees and burst into tears—rushing her out of the bathroom, into the bedroom.

“Henry, get up!” He nearly hissed, wincing at how Henry jumped—clearly frightened—and then watched wide-eyed as Killian lowered Emma to the bed carefully. “Henry, lad,” he tried to calm himself, speaking in a low, deliberate voice, “Call the hospital and have them send one of those Emergency Cars, to take your mother to the hospital. Then I need you to call your grandparents and tell them to meet us there. Can you do that, lad?”

Henry didn’t respond for a moment, his eyes glued on Emma, who—Killian had to admit—looked like she had tried to drown herself, which had to be a rather disconcerting view for the kid. He knew that, and yet, he couldn’t find the patience to wait.

Emma couldn’t wait. 

“Henry!” He snapped, “I get it, lad, I’m scared too, but I need you to make those calls for me. Okay?”

Slowly, the boy nodded, and some of the tension seemed to wash away from Killian, who turned his attention back to an unresponsive, soaking wet Emma. “Oh, love,” he sighed, “What did you do to yourself?”

He ran around the room, all the while listening for the sirens he had come to associate with the Emergency Cars—he forgot what Emma called them—collecting the things he needed to warm her up again.

First, he tore off the clothes she was wearing, being careful not to scratch her with his hook, and then tenderly began to dry her off, dabbing the towel lightly over her inflamed, sensitive skin, wincing every time he saw her skin darken with deep red and purple bruises and long, dark red, angry welts.

His sanity hung by a mere thread, and he knew he had to hold it together—if not for Emma then for Henry’s sake—but he was bloody terrified.

He had seen hypothermia before, and it never ended well.

That’s why he had Henry call Snow and Charming; he knew that Henry would need someone to look after him; because as much as he wanted to, if Emma didn’t improve, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to look at Henry long enough to talk to the kid.

He looked too much like Emma.

He quickly finished drying her and then dressed her in underwear, a top and sweatpants, and wrapped her up in the softest, warmest blanket he could find, hoping that he wasn’t hurting her anymore by redressing her.

He nodded at Henry, who appeared in the doorway, his eyes red-rimmed and watery, and announced that he was going to wait for the ambulance outside. Killian’s heart squeezed at the lad’s sad appearance, and he called him back gently, managing to smile lightly.

“She’s going to be okay, lad. I promise.”

Henry merely nodded before he disappeared towards the front door again. Killian turned back to Emma, his hand finding hers on instinct, his fingers wrapping around her cold ones, wincing at how utterly unresponsive she was to his touch.

And for the very first time, he felt a glimpse of what Emma had to have gone through when he had been hit by a car.

The feeling of being so completely helpless was killing him, and all he wished for now was to find out how to make Emma better, to find out what had happened that made her lock herself in the bathroom and in the shower in the first place.

He crawled up on the bed with her, gingerly and carefully pulling her into his embrace, going over everything that he knew had happened the day before, one after the other, but finding nothing that would warrant a response like the one she had had.

Their day had been normal—the only thing that had happened was the…

He blanched.

They’d slept together.

He’d allowed her in, believing she was doing the same thing, believing she was as ready for it as he had found himself to be.

His eyes fell upon her pale face, his eyes wide with horror as nausea made his stomach twist and churn uncomfortably.

She couldn’t have…

What if…

He nearly choked.

What if this was his fault?

.

.

.

**Alli**

She snuggled deeper into her pillow and sighed happily. It was the first Saturday morning in a long time that her daughter was home with her, and she was planning on enjoying their time alone. She hadn’t had the chance to spend a lot of time with her daughter lately, and she planned on doing just that today; before picking up Henry for their Saturday night sleepover.

But she could sleep in a little first; Elena never got up before nine thirty on a Saturday. With that thought, she buried her face into her pillow again, relaxing completely, melting into her soft mattress. She enjoyed the silence that early morning brought, a smile tugging at her lips.

And then the silence was broken brutally by the ringing of her cell phone.

“No,” she groaned, “Too early.” Without lifting her face from her pillow, she felt around on the nightstand for her phone.

“Hello?” she grumbled, not checking Caller ID.

“Alli?” The soft voice at the other end woke her up instantly. She sat up slowly, running a hand through her thick, wavy hair. “Snow? What’s up?”

She bit her lip—why on earth would Snow be calling _her_?

“I need a favor,” Snow said, and for the first time, Alli heard the shake in her voice. Something akin to fear twisted her insides in a funny way and she frowned. “Yeah, Snow, sure. What is it? Is Henry okay?”

She heard her heavy sigh and straightened instantly—her sixth sense for trouble instantly spiked—and said, “Snow? Is Henry okay?”

“Oh God,” Snow exclaimed, “Yes, Henry’s fine, but Emma—she’s …” Her blood froze in her veins at that—Emma was the best friend she’d ever had; she couldn’t…

“What’s… What’s wrong with Emma?” She choked, her fingers tightening in her own hair. Snow sighed, “We don’t know yet. Killian found her in the shower this morning, unconscious; we’re not sure what happened, but she’s in the hospital…” she choked slightly, “And Killian’s really upset, he’s freaking out, and I’m… And I don’t want Henry to be here and I just—”

Alli swallowed and nodded, “And you need me to pick up Henry.”

“I wouldn’t ask,” Snow sighed, “But I need to be here for Emma and Charming’s trying to keep Killian from freaking, and I can’t look after Henry too, and I know he was supposed to come to you anyway…” she trailed off and Alli bit her lip, worry still  gnawing at her insides.

“Yeah,” she replied, “Yeah, of course. We’ll be there in half an hour.”  She half-listened to Snow thanking her profusely before hanging up, sighing heavily once again, wondering what the hell was up with Emma.

Last time she had talked to Emma, she had seemed fine.

She stumbled out of bed, getting dressed quickly before stumbling to Elena’s room, getting her daughter dressed still half-asleep; well, at least until she mentioned Henry—that  brightened Elena instantly.

It made Alli smile; her daughter had it bad for her best friend’s son—it was adorable.

“Come on Ellie,” she groaned, waiting at the front door as her little girl stumbled all over the place, still trying to wake up properly, “We have to get Henry.”

Once again, the mention of Henry seemed to spur her daughter into action, and she grinned when Elena suddenly appeared in front of her, dressed and ready to go.   
She rolled her eyes—so that was the trick to get her daughter ready faster; she just had to mention Henry and it’d take less than thirty seconds.

Good to know.

She managed to usher Elena outside and into the car with promises of breakfast at Granny’s after they got Henry. She smiled lightly as she drove to the hospital, glancing at Elena every now and then, noting with a slight pang how much she was like Graham at times.

Alli smiled lightly at the memory of how grumpy her husband had been if she woke him up before he wanted to be up; or before he had had breakfast. She smiled at the memory of one of their final mornings together.

One of those beautiful, precious memories she had, before he had been taken by the Queen.

.

.

.

_Alli sighed contently and snuggled deeper into her husband’s embrace, unwilling to face the day just yet. He had made her promise not to wake up early today; something he loathed, for a reason she couldn’t discern; even though he would be leaving in a few days to check on the wolf pack in the north._

_She always worried about him when he made trips like these, and wished that she could just come with him already; but Elena wasn’t old enough to take long journeys like these yet. It made her uncomfortable to have to miss her husband—not to mention the irrational fear she had of losing him too._

_She groaned and buried her face in his chest, allowing the sound of his slow, steady heartbeat to appease her slightly. She had protested and threatened him, but he had eventually convinced her it had to be him to watch over the wolves._

_Not that she didn’t trust him—she knew him to be rational, calm, level-headed and she knew he could fight himself out of trouble if he had to—but she knew those lands. The Queen was a ruthless woman, and she didn’t like the idea of her husband being out there alone, without anyone to back him up if he ran into trouble._

_But those were concerns for later._

_Right now, she wanted to delay his departure as long as she could. She needed to distract Graham…_

_Just for a while._

_She smirked. And she had the perfect way all planned._

_Slowly, she pulled out of his embrace a little bit, smiling at the sweet, innocent picture he made when he was sleeping. His lower lip stuck out a little bit in a tiny pout, his hair stuck every which way and his eyes were squeezed shut._

_The sweetest though—the thing she loved most about his sleeping face—was how young he looked. When he was sleeping, all his walls were down, and he actually resembled the innocent, sweet man Alli had fallen so head over heels in love with._

_She stroked his cheek lightly and smiled when he crinkled his nose. He was adorable when he was half-awake. She was broken from her thoughts by a soft grunt from the man next to her—she smirked and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips._

_“Hey there,” she whispered, wrapping herself around him, resting her chin on his chest, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes—she was perfectly aware of the effect that look had on him—and that was the effect she was looking for._

_He blinked slowly and lazily, his gaze instantly meeting hers—that damn smile already plastered on his lips. “Hey back,” he replied, his voice hoarse and so-damn-sexy. She loved how thick his accent was when he wasn’t really awake yet._

_She smiled saucily and straddled him, before leaning down to give him a proper kiss—distracting him might be the plan, but she was not unaffected either. She giggled and squirmed underneath him when he flipped them, smirking down at her as she pouted at him._

_“Not so fast, my love,” he purred in her ear, “I know what you're doing.” She gazed up at him innocently and bit her lip. “I’m not doing anything... I waited for you so you could wake up on your own, not too early. What else would I be doing?” She whispered softly, wiggling underneath him suggestively. He growled in her ear and nipped at her earlobe._

_“Distracting me,” he replied, his fingers continuing their journey over her soft, tanned skin—she enjoyed the tingling sensations it brought her—, “So you don’t have to think about the next few weeks. You know you can’t put it off forever.”_

_He moved his lips down her neck and nipped at the skin while she desperately attempted to remember the English language._

_“Wh—what?” She managed to choke. Did he say weeks?_

_Weeks?_

_He would be gone for weeks?_

_He raised his head, smiling gently at her—oh, he had purposefully not told her how long he would be gone; that jackass. She pushed at his shoulders, wincing slightly at the cold air that hit her as he rolled off her, laying down next to her again._

_“You’re leaving us for weeks?” She demanded, trying not to let her voice break on that final word. H rested his hand on the small of her back, but she jerked away from his touch, anger simmering in her veins. “You said it wouldn’t take long,” she spat, “You said you’d be back in no time—not that you’d be gone for weeks.”_

_She felt him sit up, his arm behind her back, rounding her waist  subtly, his lips caressing her cheek. “My sweet, I don’t want it to be that long either, but they are my family too—they need me too.”_

_She knew he was right; but she didn’t like it any more than she had before. “But what about me?” she whispered brokenly, “You’re all I have. I don’t want to lose you too, and I don’t want to be away from you—it scares me.”_

_He cupped her cheek and slowly turned her head towards him, smiling gently at her in the way she loved so. “No witch or any magic is going to keep me away from you,” he whispered, “The witch that took you from your family will not take me; I will always find you—I promise.”_

_She could see the truth and utter conviction behind his words, and nodded slowly, accepting that he needed this; he needed her to understand his love for the wolves; his other family._

_And she did._

_She was just selfish—she didn’t want to share him._

_“I love you,” she breathed, looking up  at him, smiling when he leaned in, his breath washing over her lips as he whispered, “I love you too.”_

_And then his lips claimed hers, and all thoughts were wiped from her mind._

.

.

.

She smiled fondly at the memory, shaking it off when she parked the car in the hospital parking lot; she needed to focus now. “Okay,” she said, turning to her daughter, “Why don’t you wait in the car, I’ll go in and get Henry, and then we can go to Granny’s.”

Elena nodded eagerly. “Okay, mom. Tell Henry’s mom to feel better.” She swallowed difficultly and nodded. “I will.”

Unable to really contain her worry anymore— _Damn it, Emma_ , she thought _, when you are out of this hospital I am going to kill you_ —she hurried inside, stammering an explanation to the nurse at the desk, who pointed her in the direction of the waiting room.

She was only slightly surprised by the small crowd in the room—Snow and Charming were sitting together, Snow wrapped in Charming’s arms, but her one hand extended to hold Killian’s good hand. She blanched at the sight of Killian—she had met the pirate on a few occasions, and never once had he struck her as vulnerable.

She had seen the way he looked at Emma, and she had recognized that look; it was the way Graham had always given her. She had been happy for Emma—if anyone deserved to be loved like that, it was Emma.

But she saw none of the cocky pirate in him now. Henry was curled up on his lap, Killian’s hooked arm wrapped around the boy, Killian’s eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face ghastly pale.

“Hey,” she said softly, finding herself unwilling to break the silence in the room, “How is she?” Killian didn’t appear to be responding to anyone, but Henry leapt from his lap, and bounded into her arms, sobbing quietly.

Her heart broke for him as she kneeled in front of him, hugging him close. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” she whispered, “Emma’s gonna be fine.”   
Henry sniffled into her shirt, nodding slightly—she pushed him back a little and wiped the tears from his cheeks, smiling sadly, “Elena’s waiting for you in the car, why don’t you go see her, and then you two can decide what we’re having for breakfast, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Henry nodded and waved at Snow and Charming, hugged Killian and then ran out of the room without another word.

Alli sighed and got to her feet again. “However long you need me to take him, I will. Just,” she breathed in deeply, “What happened? Why is she in here?” Snow shook her head, barely containing her tears. “We don’t know. She was hypothermic when they brought her in—Killian found her in the shower.”

“She was fully dressed,” Killian croaked, “Looked like she’d been in there for hours… I don’t—” He choked, “I don’t know why she was in there; I don’t understand…”

Her heart clenched, and she found herself moving towards him before she could rethink it. “Killian,” she whispered, “She’ll be okay, you know that, right? Emma’s a fighter, and she loves you; she’ll come back to you. Just like you did with her.”

He lowered his watery, bloodshot, blue eyes to meet hers, and she winced at the pain, confusion and guilt that lurked in those eyes. “What if she doesn’t?” he whispered, sounding as broken as he looked, “What if I did this to her?”

She shook her head, grabbing both his hand and his hook in her hands. “It’s not your fault, okay? Whatever happened, whatever made her stay in the shower, it’s _not_ your fault, and she would probably kick your ass if she knew what you were thinking. She needs you to be there for her, okay? She needs you to hold it together.”

He nodded ever so slightly, and she managed a weak smile. “Take care of my best friend, alright?” she asked, squeezing his hand, “I’ll take care of Henry. Just make sure Emma’s okay.”

“Okay,” he rasped, and she smiled lightly, “Okay.”

She nodded, squeezed his hand one more time before letting go and getting back to her feet, sighing softly, turning to Snow. “Call me, let me know how she’s doing.”

Snow nodded, and Alli smiled weakly, turning on her heel and striding from the hospital, to her and Emma’s kid—she promised she’d take care of Henry—and she would.

.

.

.

**Killian**

Hours later, Killian wandered around the hospital, his mind full of doubts and worry. Emma had been extremely vulnerable yesterday—no matter what Alli had said—what if she really did this because they had slept together.

What if she wouldn’t be okay? Hypothermia was serious, and he had no idea of how long Emma had been in that ice cold shower, and his mind was running wild with ideas and fears and consequences. Killian dared not to think of the consequences if Emma wouldn’t get better; if the hypothermia was too bad to treat. He knew this realm had a vast amount of medical knowledge, but he had seen men die of hypothermia, and he was frightened to see it happen to Emma.

Gods, he _couldn’t_ think of it.

The air around him suddenly felt suffocating, and he just needed to get out; he needed fresh air. He jumped up and shot a muttered apology to Snow and Charming before running from the Waiting Room, desperate for air.

As he strode out of the hospital, he breathed in deeply, gulping in the fresh air—he had felt as though his lungs were about to burst; and though the fresh air helped, he still felt as though he was dying too. He had no idea how Emma had done this; he didn’t know how she had lived with this for nearly four weeks.

He swallowed, wishing that Emma would be okay for the millionth time that day. He couldn’t let history repeat itself—he couldn’t let Emma die because he was too late to save her; he couldn’t lose her like he had lost Milah. 

He would keep Emma safe—even from  himself.

He leaned against the wall, resting his head against the cold, hard, unforgiving bricks and closed his eyes. He remembered what Alli had said to him; Emma needed him to be strong right now, she needed him to keep it together, and that’s what he would do.

He just needed a few minutes to pull his act back together.

The silence around him was broken by the clicking of heels on the pavement. He smiled—he had expected someone to come after him; Snow was never one to leave things.

But the voice that called out for him was not Snow’s. His eyes snapped open and he felt jaw fall slack, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Killian? It’s me,” she said, a smile forming on her lips.

He choked, unable to actually pronounce anything—it couldn’t be; this couldn’t be real. He was in delirium—that was the only thing that made sense.

He watched her draw near, finally finding his voice again when she was right in front of him.

“Milah?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

**Penelope**

_She was afraid._

_She didn’t know where she was, and it was dark and cold, and her Momma and Papa were not there. She knew her Papa had told her never to be afraid, and to be brave, like her mother, but she didn’t know how not to be afraid._

_She had seen Momma laying on the deck—which she had thought was really odd, because Momma didn’t like to just rest on deck—, and Papa arguing with a strange man._

_She pouted, thinking that maybe she should have been a good girl and listened to her Papa, when he told her to go downstairs—he had looked weird; she had never seen her Papa look like that. And that was scary, because then, he couldn’t move, and then there was purple smoke and she was here._

_Wherever this was._

_Shaking, she got to her feet, trying to remember what her Papa had always told her for when she got lost._ Penny, sweetheart _, she could hear him whisper in her ear_ , Find the ocean—if you find the ocean, I will always find you.

_She swallowed and pulled on the necklace her Papa had given her for her birthday._

_She was going to be brave, like he had told her to be. She was going to find water, because water always led to the ocean, and if she found the ocean, her Papa would find her, and she would be safe._

_She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind and that was a little comforting. Trees meant that there was a forest, and there were always rivers and small streams. She struggled to remember what she had been taught about rivers, but she couldn’t remember._

_She was so cold, and so afraid and she just wanted to curl up in her own bed with her Papa telling her one of his stories to help her sleep._

_She just wanted this to be a nightmare._

_She wanted to wake up and have none of it be real._

_Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than curl up in a tight little ball and hide away from the world, but she didn’t._

_She kept walking._

_She promised her Papa. She promised she would be strong and brave._

_So she would be._

_She stumbled on, tripping over her own feet and other things she couldn’t see so many times, her palms were slick with the blood that welled up from the abrasions and scraped on her hands. She was still crying, but she didn’t want to give up, because that would not be brave of her._

_And she wanted to prove that she was brave._

_She wanted to make her Momma and Papa proud when they found her and she could tell them how she persevered. She didn’t know what that word meant, but her Papa used it a lot in his stories, and it sounded really big and impressive._

_She stopped when she suddenly heard something—something that broke the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. It sounded like the crack of a whip, loud and harsh in the silence that had surrounded her before._

_She shivered and looked around slowly, trying to see through the darkness that surrounded her. “Hello?” she called tentatively, “Is someone there?”_

_A high-pitched giggle penetrated the silence, and made her want to run and hide, when suddenly everything lit up around her, light blazing, blinding her temporarily._

_When she opened her eyes again, she could see she was in a cave, dark and cold and wet, even though it was now lighted up by a floating ball of light. And there, partially obscured by the shadows, stood the strange, scary man her Papa had been arguing with._

_“You,” she whispered, trying not to cry, because she was really afraid now, “You were with my Papa. Where is my Papa? I want my Papa!” Even though she had tried to be really brave, like her Momma and Papa had taught her, she was too afraid._

_She just wanted to go home._

_“Now dearie,” the man said, stepping forward, “No need for tears. You will see your Papa again, I promise.”_

_She looked up at the man, unsure if she should believe him. “Really?”_

_He nodded, kneeling before her, and smiled—she supposed the smile was meant to be comforting, but all it did was make her want to cry harder, and scream, until he would bring her back to her Papa. It had worked before; her Papa was unable to say ‘no’ when she cried._

_Maybe she could make this man do what she wanted too._

_“You promise?” She whispered, widening her eyes innocently, like she had seen her Momma do so many times, pushing her lower lip out in a pout._

_He smiled again, and she grew frightened—that was the kind of smile bad pirates smiled before they tried to hurt her Momma and Papa._

_“I promise you will see your Papa again,” he said, “You just won’t remember him.”_

_And he waved his hand, before she could understand what he meant, her vision went hazy, and her thoughts were slipping._

_And her mind was blank, before the world faded into blackness._

.

.

.

**Killian**

He wasn’t sure if he had lost his mind or not—because this couldn’t happen.

It _couldn’t_ be happening.

Milah was dead—he had watched her die; he had felt the weight of her body in his arms; he had felt the all-consuming grief when he had buried her body at sea—she had _died_.

She wasn’t standing in front of him—she couldn’t be. “No,” he breathed, “No, you’re not here. You aren’t real.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she smiled gently—he winced; that had been the smile he had fallen for—, reaching up to touch his cheek. He flinched at her touch, pressing his back against the wall, attempting to get away from whatever magic was at hand here; because he couldn’t believe it was her, he just could not.

“Killian, it really is me,” she cooed, as though he were a small child, “I’m really here. I’m alive; I’m here.” Tears blurred his vision, because he could _feel_ her; he could sense her; but he just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. “No,” he breathed, “You died—I held you when you died.” 

She shook her head, and he wanted to shake her; she was being impossible. “Killian,” she said, her voice soft, “Please, listen to me; let me explain; we don’t have long before I need to leave; no one can know I’m here yet.”

He spluttered, unsure of what exactly what was going on, but Milah shook her head once again, clapping her hand over his lips, his skin burning where she touched him. “Rumple didn’t kill me,” she whispered, “I did make a deal with him. I just... In exchange for your life, I needed to leave you, I needed to break your heart,” she said, her voice lowering and tears building in her eyes—tears that didn’t do anything for him, to his own surprise.

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling anymore. His shock had mingled with anger and pure, undiluted hurt. She set him up?

She made a deal with that monster?

“It was all a set-up?” He breathed, his heart shattering at the possibility that Milah had _willingly_ left him. And then he remembered something.

Realization crashed over him, and he was almost relieved.




Emma—he was worried about Emma leaving him; he was terrified by the thought that he might be losing her. That had to mean he was dreaming; that this was a stress-related hallucination; he was so worried about Emma that he was making up things.

Yes, he nodded to himself, that made a lot more sense than whatever the woman claiming to be Milah was saying. “No,” he shook his head, “No, I’m just stressed, and you’re not real. I’m just worried about Emma—that’s it. I just need to go back and see her.”

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Milah or himself.

Milah’s expression darkened when he said Emma’s name, and before he could move she slammed him back against the wall, her eyes dark with an emotion he didn’t quite recognize. “I did not come here and risk the safety that I bargained for just to be pushed away, Killian. I _am_ here, and I _am_ telling you the truth. I want you to come with me—I know of a world where we can life forever; a world where the Dark One will never find us; somewhere we can be happy again.”

She looked so sweet, so happy for a moment that he actually wanted to say yes—he wanted to be with her; he wanted to feel that innate happiness he had felt when they were together.   
He had longed for Milah for so long, it was hard to remember, for a moment, the life he had built here—the life Emma had shown him.

And that thought was the push he needed.

Emma.

However much he had been in love with Milah before, the simple truth of the matter was that he _wasn’t_. Not anymore.

He was in love with Emma, and he was not going to abandon her. “Milah, I can’t,” he whispered, shaking his head, pulling her hands from his cheeks, “I have a life now, Milah. Even if this were real, even if you were really here—I’m not leaving Emma.”

She snorted. “Right. Your replacement family.” He choked, his heart aching when she spat those words at him; words he himself had thought a few hours before; a thought he had dismissed as ridiculous at the time.

And as much as that statement caused hurt to course through his veins, it invoked anger, rage like nothing he had felt before too—and it was directed all at the woman before him; someone who had once held his heart. “You left me!” He exclaimed, pushing her away, emotions swirling through him so violently and so fast, he could hardly keep track of what he was feeling, “You let me believe you were dead! I mourned for you! I lost _everything_ because of your deal!”

“I had to! He would’ve killed you, I did what I needed to, I made sure we could both get out of it alive,” she countered heatedly, gesturing wildly.

“What about Penelope?” He pushed on, pouring every ounce of his frustration, his anger, his fear into the argument, “Did you bargain for her safety too? Did you even _think_ about our daughter?”

At that, Milah seemed to deflate, but the anger in her eyes lingered. “You let me believe you were dead for three centuries, Milah. You let me believe that it was my fault that I lost you—that I lost Penelope.”

He choked, tears burning in his eyes when the realization hit him—for the first time, he truly saw the truth; and it was killing him. “You never loved _me_ , did you? You loved what I gave you; you loved that you were free with me. That’s why you took that deal—you weren’t free anymore. Did you even care about me at all?”

“Of course I did,” she exclaimed, taking a few steps closer—but he stepped back, distancing himself from her; because she had hesitated—no more than a split-second—and he had noticed. “No,” he shook his head, “You never would’ve left if you did.”

“I was afraid!” she yelled, “I ran from one family, and then I suddenly found myself in the middle of a new one and I got scared, Killian! I ran away; I needed to be free and I felt trapped again, so I took the first way out I got!” He could feel his heart shatter at his words; because even though he loved Emma, and even though he was no longer _in_ love with Milah, he did still love her—and to hear that she had wilfully left him and their daughter to the Dark One’s whims... It broke him in ways he didn’t know he could be broken. 

Milah seemed oblivious to his emotional turmoil and ploughed on, her hands resting on his cheeks once again, her thumbs rubbing circles into his skin, “And I’m so sorry for that; I wanted to come back for you so many times, but I couldn’t, because I knew Rumple would find out and kill you in retaliation.”

He really wanted to believe her.

He wanted to believe that she _had_ truly loved him, once upon a time—because the idea of having spent three hundred years trying to avenge someone who didn’t even care at all was too much; too painful—but he just couldn’t.

He had seen what real love was now, and no matter how much his feelings for Emma frightened him, they were _real_.

And this... Whatever Milah was asking him to return to... It wasn’t real.

Emma—he nodded—Emma was real.

Emma needed him.

He chose—he chose Emma.

He nearly smiled. It was never really a choice at all.

He reached up slowly, wrapping his fingers around Milah’s slim wrist, pulling her hand away from his cheek. “I’m not coming with you. I’m staying. I’ll always love you, Milah, but I’m _in_ love with Emma and she’s in love with me and I’m not leaving her.”

He pressed a soft, sweet kiss against Milah’s forehead—saying the goodbye he never got to say before—and turned away, heading back for the entrance.

He felt lighter, somehow.

“Are you sure she loves you?” Milah called out, and he froze upon the sound of her voice. She sounded... Knowing.

She sounded ominous.

Slowly, he turned, grinding his teeth to keep his temper in check. “What are you talking about?” Milah smirked—a cold, hard smirk that made goose bumps sprout up all over his body—and flicked her long hair over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you weren’t the man she was ravishing in the Sheriff’s Station last night. The man that had his hands all over her... Before she came home and crawled in your bed. You can say whatever you like about my love for you—but at least I never bedded another man while I was with you.”

And she turned on her heel, leaving him standing gobsmacked in the middle of the parking lot.

The words cut him like a knife, and he deflated—thick, grey clouds of doubt laced his worried thoughts and theories of what happened to Emma, and _why_ she would have burned herself and then nearly drown herself in that bloody shower.

Was it guilt?

He knew it was ridiculous to let Milah—who was clearly trying to drive a wedge between him and Emma—cause doubts like these; but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t let a lot of people in, and there weren’t a whole lot of people who knew him well enough to hurt him—but Milah did.

She knew exactly what to say to make him second-guess everything he and Emma had shared last night, and before he could stop himself, he was finding clue after clue, reason after reason to believe that _maybe_ Milah was telling the truth.

Maybe Emma really had been with another man.

He wanted to kick himself for letting his absolute and unconditional faith in Emma be tainted, but in light of Milah’s return, her latest revelations—he couldn’t. He couldn’t _not_ believe her.

He began to run over every conversation he and Emma had shared, every touch, every smile, every ‘I love you’, looking for cracks in her armour, something to prove himself wrong—whether to prove that Emma did love him or not, he didn’t know.

He just knew that he couldn’t risk it.

Not again.

He _couldn’t_ be hurt like he was with Milah again. He knew better than to let someone in completely—and slowly, brick by brick, he rebuilt the wall that Emma had shattered.

He couldn’t risk being wrong about Emma. He couldn’t let her in—even though she was already in so far, he was afraid he’d never get her out.

He needed to fix this—now.

He couldn’t be hurt again; he would shatter if it were true—and if he gave Emma the chance to hurt him, he wouldn’t recover.

 _Break her heart before she breaks mine_.

It had always worked before, and it would have to work now.

He wanted to run; do what he did best—he wanted to be alone. Because what he and Emma had only ever resulted in pain.

He made up his mind.

He steeled his nerves, willing himself to adopt the cold, heartless mask of Captain Hook—a mask he had all but abandoned when he met Emma—and walked back inside, intending to tell Emma exactly that; he was done with her.

He didn’t need her.

He repeated those words to himself as he made his way back to the waiting room, unwilling to let the charade fall—Milah—if it had even been her; he still wasn’t convinced completely—had driven her point home quite persistently.

He didn’t want to be made a fool of when Emma would push him away in favour of another.

He stopped short when his eye fell upon a small, fragile -looking body through one of the windows. Her blonde hair was now dry and she looked a little better, but the mere sight of her was enough to make him crumble.

Emma wasn’t the kind of woman to string him along, and he knew that—but he was so goddamn _afraid_ —Milah had left him because she _wanted_ to.

Who was to say Emma wouldn’t?

He raised a shaking hand to press against the cold glass window, desperately trying to push back the tidal wave of emotions he just could not hold in anymore, attempting to swallow the tears that burned in his eyes, because he was a pirate.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t show weakness.

But seeing Emma in that bed, so small and innocent... That was what made him feel weak.

“Killian?”

He didn’t turn to face her—he couldn’t face her; Snow always pulled the things he wanted to forget from him, and he just couldn’t deal with it right now.

“Killian, what’s wrong?” Her soft, compassionate voice was closer now, and he wanted to curse and cry and scream, because he _couldn’t_ do this—he couldn’t be strong for everyone, he couldn’t hold it together anymore.

And as she touched his shoulder, he just gave into the waves of despair that claimed him, his knees buckling as a loud, anguished sob fell from his lips.

“She left me—they both left me.”

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(A few hours later)_ **

Her body felt odd—strangely heavy, her skin feeling as though it wasn’t even properly attached to her body anymore.

It was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed.

She felt oddly disconnected; and she had no bloody clue of what was going on. She didn’t know where she was—or what happened.

Her mind was strangely blurred, like it was when she was between sleeping and awakening. She wanted to move, wanted to open her eyes and find out what was happening around her—but she was still _so_ tired.

Everything felt _so_ heavy, and her mind was so hazy—the sweet nothingness of the black abyss of sleep was beckoning her, and much as she wanted to fight it, she couldn’t. So she sank deeper into the confines of her own mind, numbing blackness slowly washing over her again.

When she finally came back to herself, she vaguely registered voices; familiar voices.

She knew those people.

Snow.

Killian.

Oh, God—Killian.

She wanted to sit up, call out to him—she wanted him to hold her and make her feel safe, and loved and protected, like he always did, but she couldn’t. Her body boldly refused to cooperate, and it made her want to pull at her hair in pure frustration—of course, that didn’t work either.

She couldn’t move, she couldn’t talk—she couldn’t do anything to let them know she was with them; she couldn’t do anything but listen to their voices.

“What if it’s true?” Killian whispered, and her heart clenched at the genuine and undiluted agony that laced in his words, “What if I really did lose her to another? I cannot lose her, Snow.” She wished that she could move, that she could just hold him, comfort him, because it made her ache to hear him this broken.

She never wanted him to hurt like this again.

It took another moment for his words to register.

Wait.

Lose her to another?

What—he didn’t think—

She felt ill at the thought of being with anyone but him, and she did not quite understand where that thought had come from—who could possibly have told him something  that ridiculous?

And why on earth would he believe it?

Another possibility struck her; and it actually made her feel like she was about to throw up.

Neal.

What if he had shown up?

Claimed to have an affair with her?

Killian wouldn’t—she choked—he wouldn’t actually _believe_ she would betray him like that, would he?

Snow’s—mom’s—soft voice broke her from her thoughts, and in that tone, Emma could hear the friend Killian had turned to for months. And for the first time, she understood.

She understood why so many loved her mother—how you just trusted her from the very first moment you met—how you couldn’t help but care about her.

She finally got why Killian turned to her mother when he felt alone and lost.

“Killian, we’ve talked about this; we don’t know what happened—you can’t just assume the worst. She _loves_ you. You _know_ that—don’t let her get to your head. That woman isn’t worth another second of your time.”

Wait.

Her mind slowed to a screeching halt.

What woman?

Suddenly, her hand—her left hand—felt heavier, warmer, and she realized instantly that Killian was next to her, his hand covering hers. It comforted her, in a strange way—his presence, his touch calmed the erratic thoughts in her head, allowing her to focus on his voice once again.

“I love her, Snow,” he whispered, his voice louder, more defined, “I can’t lose her too—not her.”

“You won’t.” Snow sounded every bit the Queen she was, and Emma could see why Killian would be comforted by her mother’s presence—Snow was understanding and gentle, but firm and unforgiving when she needed to be.

There was just one thing that didn’t make sense to Emma.

Why the hell did Snow feel the need to be firm with Killian? And who was this woman they had spoken of? And why on earth would Killian assume she had cheated on him?

Did he really have that little faith in her feelings for him?

Pondering that thought, attempting to push down the hurt it invoked, she hardly noticed her mind getting drowsier, darkness tugging at the corners of her mind.

And her final thought, before she lost her grip on reality again, was that she loved him, and that—no matter what their life decided to throw at them—she was done being afraid.

She loved him, and she was going to bloody well fight for him too.

And darkness claimed her once again.

.

.

.

When she finally awoke again, she could finally feel a change—her body felt lighter, her limbs more under her control. One of her hands was immobilized and heavy, but it didn’t scare her like it did before—the tingles that ran up and down her arm and the slightly warm feeling between her fingers told her that Killian was there—he was holding her hand.

He hadn’t left.

That thought caused her more relief than it should, considering that she still hadn’t told him the truth about what had happened last night.

Or... Well... What she remembered as last night.

She felt strangely out of the loop, uncertain of what had transpired. The last thing she remembered... The last thing she remembered was getting into the shower.  Her heart clenched as a wave of desperation fought to take hold of her; she remembered how much it had _hurt_ ; how much she had wished for everything to simply go away—how she had wished to be back in Boston, on her own, because being alone  was easier.

Being alone meant that there was no one who could hurt her.

But then she wouldn’t have Henry—she wouldn’t have her parents—she wouldn’t have this crazy band of fairytale characters that she was growing strangely fond of—she wouldn’t have Killian.   
And that did it for her.

She couldn’t give into her fears again—she couldn’t let go of the best thing that had ever happened to her life because she was afraid.

She was stronger than that, damn it.

She breathed in deeply, shivering at the cool air that filled her lungs, and flexed her fingers lightly, wincing at how stiff her muscles felt.

Okay. She needed to open her eyes.

She needed to open her eyes and figure out what mess she had landed herself in. As much as it scared her, she needed to face Killian and tell him everything—he deserved the truth from her. He had been nothing but honest with her.

She winced internally.

She needed to respect him and do the same.

But first, she needed to open her eyes. She needed to take this one step at a time.

Blinking was not as easy as she remembered it to be though—her eyelids were heavy, almost as though someone had glued her eyes shut. She had never felt this vulnerable before—she felt wide awake, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate; she couldn’t wake up all the way and that terrified her.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, hoping that she could get her eyes open properly—she wanted to see her boyfriend and her mother, and her son—she wanted to wrap them in her arms and never let go again.

She swallowed thickly and nodded to herself. _Come on, Emma_. She sighed. _You can do this._

And with that, she ripped her eyes open.

It felt as though she had ripped her eyelids clean off—tears stung in her eyes, and she blinked wildly, desperately trying to get used to the bright light that blinded her temporarily. She wasn’t in her own bedroom—she wasn’t even at home. She recognized this room though—and it wasn’t comforting at all.

A hospital room.

The exact same room Killian had spent nearly three months in.

Why was she in a hospital room?

Slowly, her stiff, aching muscles protesting against the movement, she turned her head to her left, where her hand was still trapped underneath Killian’s, as she had expected.   
He sat by her side, his fingers entwined with hers, his head resting next to their hands, his eyes closed—his face still taunt with stress.

She frowned.

Though he usually looked relaxed and sweet while asleep, he looked far from it this time—she felt slightly angry with herself for making him worry; obviously, whatever had happened had taken its toll on him.

She could see dark circles underneath his eyes.

She frowned again, attempting to speak, to rouse him, but she found she couldn’t produce much more than a hoarse croak. Blinking away tears of despair, of frustration, she gently squeezed Killian’s fingers, shaking his hand with the little strength she had.

“Killian,” she croaked, shaking his hand again, “Killian…” He blinked lazily at first, seemingly unsure of what had awoken him; but then his eyes fell upon hers, and he jumped up, his eyes wide, and relieved and—dare she say it—sparkling with a sheen of unshed tears.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his calloused fingertips touching her cheek ever so gently, “You’re awake.” He swooped down so swiftly and unexpectedly to press a soft, fleeting kiss to her lips, she barely got the chance to register his lips on hers and to kiss him back before he ripped himself away.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of activity, so much happening in so little time, she barely got the chance to process everything—Killian ran out to get Whale, and her mother, father, Henry, Elena and Alli followed them back in, all seeming a little too relieved to see her up.

She was poked and prodded and was more than a little annoyed at how no one was really telling her anything. She really didn’t remember anything that could’ve prompted a visit to the hospital—or everyone hovering over her like she was going to break—she hated it already, and was relieved when her mom, dad and Killian left the room with Whale—though she was planning on forcing Killian to tell her whatever it was that he didn’t want her to hear—leaving her with Alli and the two kids.

“Hey,” she smiled weakly at her friend, who was currently in between frowning at her and smiling. Henry had, apparently, waited for her to speak before he nearly tackled her onto the bed, hugging her so tightly, she had to pat him on the back gently, choking, “Too tight, kid, too tight.”

Slowly, he pulled away from her, and her heart clenched painfully at the sight of unshed tears in his eyes.  She hadn’t wanted Henry to worry about her—she still needed to get used to the fact that there was anyone who worried about her, to be quite frank, and though it was endearing and sweet and made her smile to know she had people that genuinely cared about her, she loathed herself for making her kid cry.

Alli appeared by her side, smiling tightly. “We were worried, Emma. How’re you feeling?”

She managed a smile in return, unsure of how to respond. Physically, she felt pretty good—but she had seen the many red marks and streaks that marred her skin, and though she wasn’t sure what was in the IV, she was willing to bet anything that it was morphine.

“I’m fine,” she responded, biting her lip, her eyes darting from her best friend to her son. Guilt gnawed at her stomach at Henry’s upset expression. “Hey,” she smiled gently, ruffling her kid’s hair, “I’m okay, Henry. Really.”

It seemed that was the final straw for Henry, who burst into tears and lunged at her, wrapping his arms around her neck tightly as he sobbed against her shirt. “But you _weren’t_!” he cried, “You weren’t okay! And Killian was so scared, and I was too, and no one would tell me what was happening!”

Her heart shattered, and she choked slightly on her own tears, wrapping her arms around her son, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, hoping to calm him, to appease him slightly.

Now, more than ever, she felt guilt wash over her in strong, deep waves, and she wished she could go back and kick herself for allowing herself to break like she did—it had had an impact on so many other people; her life was no longer just hers, and she needed to accept that the people in her life, the people that cared about her, were there to stay.

“I’m sorry, kid,” she whispered, stroking his back as he sobbed against her, “I’m so sorry.”

She closed her eyes in desperation for a moment, attempting desperately to regroup her thoughts—she needed to calm Henry down; she didn’t want him to worry about this anymore. He was just a kid, for God’s sake; she was being a horrible parent.

She cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at her. Henry was breathing was hard and fast, and his eyes were still filled with tears. Emma could read the pure and undiluted fear, mixed in with worry and confusion in Henry’s eyes, and it sent waves of pain rocking through her body.

She didn't want her son to be afraid—she couldn’t let him face worries that most adults wouldn’t even know what to do with; she couldn’t let him lose that innocent part of him. She would give him everything he wanted, do whatever he wanted her to do just to make him smile again, to make him enjoy being a child. To take away every bit of fear he held and to make him happy for the rest of his life.

He was her sweet, sweet boy—and he needed to get the chance to be just that.

“Henry,” she said, “I promise, I’m okay. You don’t need to worry, okay? Promise me you won’t worry. I’m gonna be fine.” She looked into his chocolate eyes, smiling gently.

“Okay, kid?” He nodded shakily.

Emma was slightly more comfortable now it seemed Henry was going to be okay, but continued to whisper to him, holding his body pressed tightly to hers as he continued crying softly. She focused her attention on her son, who was calmer now, his sobs nearly stopping completely—she met Alli’s eye and managed a weak smile.

Alli smiled back, and for the first time, Emma noticed the little girl that had her arms wrapped around her mother’s waist, her shoulders shaking—clearly Elena couldn’t stand Henry crying either. Alli’s cheeks were wet too, and Emma winced once again at the reminder of how many people she had that cared about her now.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, truly sorry that she had made her friend worry this much; clearly her condition had been much worse than she had thought.

Alli shook her head, smiling gently.

At that moment, the door to her room opened again, and Snow, Charming and Killian wandered back in. Snow smiled at the sight of her and Henry, before she spoke up softly and said, “Okay Henry, Elena… How about we go get everyone a hot chocolate with cinnamon, give Emma some time to wake up properly?”

Henry turned his wide, tearful eyes back to her, and Emma barely managed a smile, nodding slowly. “Go get me some hot chocolate, kiddo. I’m not really going anywhere.”

That seemed to spur Elena into action. She walked up to the bed and held out her hand for Henry, looking up at the both of them with big, innocent blue eyes. “Come on, Henry,” she said softly, “Let’s go.” For the first time, Emma saw the family resemblance between Elena and Graham—they smiled the same, sweet smile when they wanted to get something done.

It made her smile.

“Go ahead,” Emma smiled, not missing the way Henry’s eyes brightened when he looked at Elena—it was still too cute.

The two kids nearly ran over to Snow and Charming, dragging the two Charming’s from the room by their hands, already chattering happily about Granny’s and hot chocolate. It warmed Emma’s heart to see her son smiling again, even if the smile wasn’t directed at her.

Alli approached her bed too, wrapping her arms around Emma in a gentle, comforting hug that made tears spring to her eyes again. “You need to talk to him, Emma,” she whispered, “he was a wreck. He thought it was his fault. You two need to sort this out right now.”

And with that, she pulled away from the hug, sent a gentle smile Emma’s way. “I’m glad you’re okay,’ she said, ‘I’ll go with Snow and the kids.” Before Emma got to voice a protest or a plea to stay, Alli had left, and she was alone with Killian once more.

Slowly, still afraid of what she might find, she moved her gaze to where he stood, leaning against the wall. His eyes were red-rimmed and circled with dark, deep circles that evidenced the lack of sleep he had received since he had found her. He seemed paler, tired and weary, and she hated herself for putting that look on his face.

 _He thought it was his fault_.

Alli’s words echoed in her mind, taunting her, torturing her. She swallowed as he moved towards her, his good hand playing with the tip of his hook absent-mindedly. “I think we have some things we need to talk about,” she said softly, trying to hide the slight shake in her voice—she didn’t want to be afraid anymore; she wanted to believe that he loved her enough to stay, even when it was hard; but it was so damn hard.

He smiled wryly, his eyes never losing contact with hers as he nodded slowly. “Aye love,” he said, his voice low and graveled, like it was when he was just waking up, “I think we do.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

**Emma**

She shivered at the grave tone of his voice, but halted her frightened, doom-thinking thoughts—to think like that was nothing short of stupid. She needed to be strong—she needed to show everyone that she was not to be broken—that she would not fall apart and give in after one single setback.

She refused to let Neal win again; she refused to let him dominate her life like that. He didn’t deserve to have so much power over her—she was not going to let him ruin her life again.  She needed to have faith in what she felt for Killian, what she knew he felt for her; they were True Love, for God’s sake.

No one just ran from that.

She did not even feel the single tear run down her cheek—nor did she hear his approach. She only noticed when he sat on the bed next to her, his thumb wiping the tear from her cheek in a tender caress that had every single one of her nerve-endings spontaneously combust.

She met his gaze and managed a shaky smile at the many questions that shone in those intense, blue orbs.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, knowing he needed that reassurance as much as she did—anxiety and anger had been wrecking through her body and left its marks—she had not felt her hands ball into fists, nor had she noticed the tiny, crescent-shaped marks her nails left in her skin as they dug in.

But where she had been ignorant to the mutilation of her skin, Killian obviously had not been so, and his ever-present worry had won out on his rationality.

“I’m okay,” she repeated softly when the turmoil in his eyes did not die down, and his hand—that was still resting on her cheek—twitched. She reached up to entwine her fingers with his as she pulled his hand from her face in a gentle motion.

“I _am_ okay,” she repeated one last time—because she was. Somehow, the pain and anger that had been consuming her thoughts earlier had all but evaporated as soon as he showed up. She was at peace now—no dark, malicious thoughts were clouding her mind—and the day seemed brighter than it had before.

“Are you certain?” His voice was raw with suppressed emotion, his accent thicker than usual as he startled her from her thoughts once again.

He had the tendency to do that.

Nonetheless, she nodded affirmatively. She squeezed her fingers around his briefly. “I am. You’re here—I’m okay now. Don’t worry about me.”

She could see the corner of his lips twitch upward slightly and suppressed a smile of her own—she knew he wanted to treat her on another of his I-love -you-so-of-course-I-worry-speeches, but was refraining from actually doing so to avoid another fight.

Most might not see this as a grand gesture—but she appreciated it. A fight was indeed by far the last thing either one of them needed right now. They needed to talk, smooth things over and be honest, and fighting might not be the best way to do that.

“Why did you do it?” He inquired, a soft, concerned note to his voice. She wished she could find words to describe her inner turmoil of that moment to him—she trusted him implicitly, and she was aware the walls she had built to protect her fragile, still broken heart from him were slowly crumbling down once again.

She swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she knew that the things she had to say would hurt—even if they weren’t meant to. ‘I needed it,’ she finally muttered in reply, and glanced around the room, avoiding his gaze. “I couldn’t handle feeling _so_ much anymore and I just—” she choked, “—I snapped.”

 Tears blurred her vision as his hand slid over her cheek, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “You could’ve just talked to me, love,” he said, his voice broken and soft—her heart clenched at his pained expression.

She steeled herself for giving a response that would most certainly trigger another one of their near-legendary fights. “But—” she began, before Killian clasped his hand over her mouth, silencing her retort while shaking his head furiously.

“I love you,” he whispered, “I’m not going anywhere, Emma. No matter how hard it will get.”

Her thoughts scattered at his short, sweet confession—perhaps he did, in fact, love her more than she gave him credit for. But, when given the necessary amount of thought, she still couldn’t believe he would stay after she told him everything.

No one wanted damaged goods. 

So she tilted her head and regarded him closely, slowly pulling his hand from her lips. “But you might  when I tell you everything.”

His lips twisted into a bittersweet smile, and she expected him to withdraw—he seemed frozen in place, his body tense and rigid. “Is it true then?” he whispered, the hurt in his voice palpable, “You were with someone else that night?”

Slowly, she nodded. “Yeah… But I didn’t cheat on you,” she added immediately, seeing his eyes darken with hurt and remembering the conversation she had overheard while being asleep.

“He…” she choked, blinking rapidly, “He tried to—” She broke off, overcome by the horror of what Neal had tried to do that night. She didn’t need to finish for him to understand what she meant—he had always been quite adept to reading her. She just hoped he wouldn’t see the disgust she felt; both for Neal and herself. Somehow, she felt like she could’ve prevented it from happening.

Of course, it was vain to hope Killian would not notice her inner turmoil—and he responded to it as he always did; he pulled her straight into his arms, pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered that, somehow, everything would fall into place—for the both of them.

He whispered that he was sorry for doubting her, that he loved her, that he would never leave her.  And she wanted to believe him—she honestly wished she could have faith in the future like he seemed to have—but she could not; she was still too afraid to believe that it could be okay.

That it could work out.

The tears that had clouded her vision earlier, but had not fallen, were no longer to be controlled—before she even fully knew _why_ , she found herself sinking into his comforting embrace, accepting the strength it offered her, as she sobbed uncontrollably, for once allowing herself to feel the absolute terror the thought of telling Killian everything that had transpired that night.

She wasn’t afraid he’d leave—not anymore—not with the way he was holding her; as though she was the most precious treasure he had ever held. But she was terrified he would be disgusted; that he would look at her as though she was broken; damaged.

She breathed in deeply, snuggling a little closer to him, deriving the strength she would need for this conversation from his loving embrace. “Do you remember what I told you about Henry’s father?” she said softly, her words sounding slightly muffled against his shirt.

His chest vibrated underneath her cheek as he grumbled a response. “You mean the coward who left you to pay for his crime?”

She winced, but nodded against his chest. “He came to Storybrooke,” she revealed, feeling Killian’s body tense against hers. “He surprised me at the Sheriff’s station. He told me why he left—”  
She continued talking, leaving out no details, telling him everything she had said, done and felt that night, letting him in completely—insisting that none of the things that had happened had been his fault.

She had made her own decisions, and he couldn’t take the blame for those.

He tensed several times during her narrative, and at one point, he started swearing so loud, one of the nurses ran in to check on them—she bowed out instantly, of course, blushing when she had seen them in the bed together.

By the end of her tale, she felt spent and tired—but light and new too.

Killian had remained quiet during the final part of her story, unmoving, hardly even breathing. “Killian?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soft, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

His cheeks were wet with the tears he had spilled as she spoke, and his jaw was thick with tension. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, wiping a few tears from his cheek with her thumb, “I’m so sorry for ever hurting you.”

He shook his head, turning his entire body in her direction, pulling her hand from his cheeks to his lips, pressing a soft, intimate kiss to her palm. “You have nothing to be sorry about, love,” he smiled, “I, on the other hand, have many things I would very much like to kick myself for.”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “I don’t get it—how can you still look at me like that? Like I’m not broken? Not damaged? How do you not hate me for what I’ve done?”

He cupped her cheeks and pulled her closer, pressing their lips together in a soft, sweet kiss. It felt like the most natural, most real thing she had ever done, her arms sliding around Killian’s neck as his fingers curled into her hair, their lips colliding softly, but no less passionate then any of their other kisses—but she could feel the difference.

This wasn't merely a kiss, no simple brush of the lips—no, this was a promise for the future; sappy as it sounded, she was sure she could feel their souls entwining on a new level.  
It was a cure; not a cure for any sort of disease—but a cure for all the heartache and pain they had felt in the past; for everything that had once seemed irreparable between them.

Killian was the one to pull away from her, resting his forehead against hers as they allowed their breathing to regulate. “I have done things, my love,” he breathed against her lips, “that make me a far more despicable being than you could ever be. You are not damaged—nor are you broken. I could never hate you, Emma.”

She hugged him close and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, her heart feeling so light, and so filled with love, she was sure could fly away if she tried. “I love you,” she whispered, staring deeply into his eyes, loving how she could read his every emotion and sentiment.

He smiled and whispered, “And I love you, Emma.”

She tightened her embrace on him and whispered, “Are we okay now?” He pressed his lips to her crown and whispered, “I’m afraid that’ll depend on you, love. I have some things to tell you—things that…” He choked, and she felt worry gnaw at her in the pit of her stomach, “… That change everything.”

“Change everything?” she questioned, a frown furrowing her brow. “How?”

He sighed. “Well, I suppose one could say that your long lost love is not the only one who decided to come to Storybrooke—I wager I was even more surprised than you were with your wanker.”

She chuckled dryly when he referred to Neal as a wanker—really, that was an accurate description as she had ever heard one—before the rest of his words sank in.

_Your long lost love is not the only one who decided to come to Storybrooke._

She swallowed thickly, her heart thundering in her chest as she considered the implication in his words. “What do you mean?” She inquired, trying to hide the subtle shake in her voice. He sighed heavily, his fingers pausing in their quest to trace comforting circles on the inflamed, tender skin of her arm. “I mean that... It seems Milah has returned too.”

She almost felt as though her entire world collapsed—because if _Milah_ was back... Milah of all people...The one woman he had loved before her, and the only woman she was sure she could never compare to.

He _was_ going to leave her.

Not because of something she did, but because she could never compare to how much he loved Milah. She felt like her heart was shattering in her chest, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe anymore—and part of her didn't want to either; she _couldn't_ lose him.

Not after everything.

She would keep going, even if only for her son's sake, but losing Killian would shatter her. She would never recover from it. Tears were prickling in her eyes, and her panic, her anxiety seemed to take hold of her—and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t push it down anymore.

She couldn’t think.

She couldn’t even breathe.

 _This is bad_ , she managed to tell herself, completely losing control over her own body, _this is very bad._

.

.

.

**Killian**

Her breathing was growing heavier, and Killian quickly scolded himself.

Damn it.

Telling her Milah had returned was sending her headfirst into a full-blown anxiety attack—even though he was unsure as to exactly _why_ she was so upset, he did realize that he needed to calm her down.

 _Great job, Killian_ , he scolded himself, _Really good job—you made her freak out in less than five seconds when you_ really _should keep her calm._

He closed his eyes in desperation for a moment, attempting desperately to regroup his thoughts—he knew eye contact would be vital if he were to calm her down. Her heart was beating far too fast—if he were to believe the beeping machine next to her bed—her breaths were shallow and uneven, and he was certain it could not be healthy.

He cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him. He ignored the chills that ran down his spine as he took in the sight of her big green eyes filled with tears and a gleam of something he couldn't quite identify.

Her breathing was still hard and fast, and he could almost hear her heart thrumming through her chest. He could read the pure and undiluted fear in her eyes, and it sent waves of pain rocking through his body.

He didn't want her to be afraid.

She shouldn't be afraid—he was not going anywhere; he was never leaving her.

Not unless she wanted him to. She kept shaking her head, breathing “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… “

“Emma, love,” he whispered, pulling her closer to his body without fully realizing what he was doing, “breathe… Come on, you need to calm down. It’s okay. Everything will be alright, lass.” She was afraid—he had realized that suddenly and instantly, and it terrified him too; but he needed to focus on her.

Only her.

She needed him, and he was going to be there for her too. With that thought in mind, he pulled her further into his embrace, resting her head on his chest, his hand absent-mindedly stroking her hair.

He  pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I need you to focus on breathing, Emma,” he explained in hushed whispers, “I’ll breathe with you. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? It’s going to be okay. I'm here, lass. I'm right here, with you.”

She nodded shakily.

He took a deep breath to steady his own nerves and whispered, “Okay… Breathe in…” She took a shaky breath at the same time as he did. “… And out,” he breathed in her ear, breathing with her, kissing the tip of her ear.

Her breathing was still ragged and unsteady, and it scared the hell out of him. What if he couldn't calm her down? He was simply stunned at the realization that he was _scared._

Terrified even.

He had never before felt fear such as this. She had to be okay. She just had to be. Other options would cause instant heart failure on his part—he  _needed_  her to be okay.

“In…” he whispered, desperately trying to ignore the growing ball of panic in the pit of his stomach, “… And out.” She was shaking, her breathing more like constant sobs, wheezing in her lungs.

Bloody hell.

He could feel her heart thrumming against his fingers, where his hand rested just below her ribcage, and he was slightly alarmed by the speed of her heart. She needed to calm down now—or he wasn't the only one who was going to end up dead if she didn't calm the hell down.

“You need to calm down, Emma,” he whispered, drawing absent-minded circles on her stomach, where his hand rested, “you will be okay. There is nothing to be afraid of. There’s nothing wrong, lass—we are fine. We're both alright.”

She shook her head, her tears dripping on his arm. “No, no, please don’t. Don’t say that if you're leaving anyway,” she choked, “Don't... Please Killian…”

She choked on her tears, “Please, make it stop. It hurts.”

She struggled lightly in his grip as he attempted to deduce the meaning of her words—but when she cried out harshly, digging her nails into his shoulders, he snapped from his thoughts and hugged her softly, kissing her cheek lightly. “I won’t, Emma, it’s fine. It won’t hurt anymore. I am not leaving you; I promised you, remember, love? I love you. I'm not going anywhere.”

She was still shaking and crying, but her breathing had slowed a tiny little bit, which was an immense achievement already. “But Milah,” she choked, “you love her—you will always love her more. You'll go with her. You'll hurt me.”

He choked back the bile that rose in his throat at the mere thought of hurting her—or leaving her for that conniving, lying bitch of a woman—and shook his head, tightening his embrace on her slightly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he muttered, rocking her gently, “I will not go with Milah. I love _you_ , Emma Swan. Do you honestly believe I could forgive Milah for allowing me to believe she was dead for three centuries? Do you honestly believe I would choose her over my True Love?” Emma seemed to calm a little more at his words, though tears continued streaming down her cheeks and her breathing was still too fast for his peace of mind.

He continued rocking her softly, whispering nonsense in her ear, keeping her focused on his voice as she calmed down slowly, her breathing and heartbeat slowing down to a healthier level.

He was slightly more comfortable now it seemed she was going to be okay, but continued to whisper to her, holding her lithe body pressed tightly to his as she continued crying softly. He focused all of his attention on Emma, who was calmer now, her sobs nearly stopping completely—but she was still shaking.

“Feeling better?” He asked softly, when the tremors and sobs subsided slightly. She sniffed softly, but shook her head. “I can’t do this, Killian. I can't keep wondering if you will leave me for Milah—I can't keep fighting _so_ hard. I want to give you everything, but I can't... I can't keep you from her if you want her more—I don't want you to stay just because you feel sorry for me.”

He shook his head and tilted her chin up to look in her eyes.

“You, my dear, sweet Swan, are going to listen to me very carefully.” She blinked up at him with her big green eyes, biting her lower lip softly. When he was convinced he had her full attention, he carefully weighed his next words.

“I have told you I love you more times than I can remember—and I do. I love _you_. I don't _want_ Milah anymore. I do not want her; I want _you_ , Emma Swan, and whatever you are willing to give me.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “She abandoned me—she abandoned our child to the whims of the Dark One. Even if I did still have feelings for her, they disappeared at that revelation. That woman is not the woman I fell in love with. And she's not the woman I love now,” he cupped her cheek and smiled, “You are.”

She managed a weak smile and nodded slowly. “Really?” she whispered, her eyes locking on his briefly. He frowned at her. “Really, lass, I know you love hearing me say the words—but if you ever want them, all you need to do is ask.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “And that goes for _everything_ you might want from me.”

She laughed—truly laughed—and swatted his chest. “We are in a hospital, you infuriating pirate. Can you not behave for five minutes?”

He rolled his eyes and her and smirked. “I behaved for the past two days, love. I needed to get it out there.” She smiled at him, before leaning in again, pressing their lips together in a soft, innocent kiss. “I love you, Killian,” she whispered, her voice still shaking lightly, “Are we okay again?”

He smiled indulgently against her lips, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I love you too, lass. And we were always okay. We are always going to be okay.” She nodded and tangled her fingers in the soft locks in the nape of his neck, pulling him back to her lips.

“Yes... Yes, we are.”

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(A day later)_ **

“Killian,” she moaned, attempting to dodge his roaming hands, “Killian, my parents are waiting for us.” She pulled her shirt over her head and attempted to straighten her hair slightly—or at least to make it look less like she had just spent twelve hours rolling around beneath the sheets with Killian—not that she hadn’t...

She just didn’t want to look like it. She was all too relieved that the burns the hot water had left on her skin were all minor, so most had healed before she even woke up—she didn’t really feel them now.

Which she was very happy about—burns or not, she loved feeling Killian’s hand all over her skin.

She’d been discharged from the hospital this morning, after being kept overnight, and Snow and Charming had insisted on having dinner together, as a family, so they could tell Henry about Neal—she’d wanted to do it on her own at first, but Snow, Charming and Killian had all insisted that they supported her decision not to tell Henry in the first place, so they should be there when the truth came out too.

Naturally that left her very, _very_ stressed out—and Killian had been all too willing to help her relieve some of that pent-up tension.

The man in question was standing behind her, his hand and hook splayed out on her stomach, his lips firmly pressed to her neck. “I don’t wanna go,” he whined, “I’ll have to behave and not touch you—” He smirked at her in the mirror, “—and that is so not going to happen. I can’t keep my hand—or hook—off of you, love. You’re quite irresistible.”

She giggled and squirmed in his arms, only half-heartedly fighting off his advances—saying she wanted to have dinner with her parents was one thing... Actually rejecting Killian when he was in full-on seductive mode was another—another rather impossible thing.

She had no clue how she managed to stay away from him before; even though they’d been sleeping in the same bed—once she’d given in, she couldn’t get enough of him.

And she loved it.

It had never felt that way with _any_ of her previous lovers—and she liked it that way. It only proved what she had always known, and always fought—she and Killian did have something special; something most people would never have, nor experience.

She smiled at the memory of what Mary-Margret had once told her. True Love was rare—otherwise everyone would have it.

“Well,” she said, breathing in deeply and steeling herself, “you’re going to have to.” She pulled his hand from her body, turned around, pecked him on the lips and darted into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow her too closely—she only had so much self-control...

And when it came to Killian, it was fragile at best.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and swallowed at the hungry look in his eyes.

They both knew it too.

.

.

.

**Killian**

He strolled towards her, determination in each step. He was so going to change her mind about leaving the bed—he knew she loathed the idea of having to tell her lad about his father, and to be honest, he didn’t quite look forward to it either. Besides, she looked far too hot in those tight jeans, low-cut shirt and boots of hers. She was so not going out wearing it so other men could ogle what was his.

Her eyes locked onto his, and he smirked when she narrowed her eyes at him. “No,” she exclaimed, backing away from him, further into the bathroom, pointing at him, “No. Do not try to distract me again. I am not falling for that trick again.”

He smirked—it was working—and widened his eyes innocently at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he smiled, “I’m just trying to get into _our_ bathroom to get ready.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted at him.

God damn it.

Way too adorable.

“Killian,” she sighed, “I mean it. We do not have time to—” He moved over to her—moving faster than he thought he could—, pulled her to him and grinned when she squealed, wriggling in his embrace.   
He dropped soft butterfly kisses on her neck, loving the way she completely melted into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he kissed his favorite spot over and over again.

Her control was wavering, and he knew it.

“Come on, love,” he whispered, not removing his lips from her skin, “You know you want me.” She whimpered in protest—but the attempt was laughable and they both knew it.

He grinded his hard-on into her, groaning when she moaned and pushed back against him. “Damn it,” she breathed, “Killian… No time…”

“Come on,” he whispered, “You know you would rather spend some more… _quality time_ with me than with your parents.” He nibbled on a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, knowing exactly what it did to her.

He turned her in his embrace before she could protest and smashed his lips upon hers, taking advantage of her indecision. Slowly, he backed her up against the wall, his fingers digging into her thigh, a growl falling from his lips as the rough denim of her jeans prevented his access to her smooth, silky skin.

He slid his hand up, fiddling with the button on her jeans, pushing the offending fabric off her long legs as fast as he could without actually ripping them with this hook—he knew she would be mad if he tore her favorite jeans, and he really wasn’t in the mood for fighting; though that would inevitably lead to incredibly hot make-up sex.

Hmm.

Food for thought.

At another time. Emma’s teeth were pulling at his earlobe, rapidly demolishing his thoughts.

He pulled one of her legs around his hip, pressing his aching hard-on into her, rolling his hips against hers, a low, long moan falling from her lips in response. He pulled at the lacy fabric of her underwear, growling against her neck, attempting desperately to remember to draw this out long enough, so they’d be way too late for that stupid dinner; even though it had a not-so-stupid-topic he really didn’t want to think about—she wouldn’t want to come in too late; it’d be obvious if they were both late getting at the diner.

“Killian,” she moaned hotly in his ear, as he pushed the lacy fabric aside and slipped one, long digit into her center, reveling at how hot and tight she was— _after_ he’d spent an entire day in bed with her. Her knees buckled, and he was pretty afraid his own wouldn’t hold either.

He was baffled by how much power she seemed to have over him—even if she wasn’t aware of it; hell he was nearly coming just by fingering her! She bit down on his shoulder and he growled as the pain and pleasure of her bite mixed together in a delicious blend of mindlessness.

He was barely aware of her pushing them away from the wall, into the bedroom and tackling him onto the bed.

His head was deliciously empty—the only thoughts occupying his mind were centered around Emma and how to have her and how fast he could get her right now. She was kissing down his chest—and Gods, that felt good—but he needed to be in control; he needed to taste her, touch her, be inside of her—he just needed to be with her.

So, using the fact that he was still stronger than she was, he flipped them again, pushing her into the mattress and grinding his shaft into the thin fabric of her underwear, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from her, right before he managed to capture her lips in another, deep, passionate kiss.

She pulled at his hair, and he couldn’t suppress the whine that escaped his lips when she broke the kiss. “Killian,” she moaned, “I need you. Please, Killian.”   
That was the only encouragement he needed as he fell onto her like a starved man—and he honestly felt like one too.

He tore her panties from her with his hook and entered her in one, slick, deep movement. She gasped and arched her back, pushing herself flush against him, their hearts both beating frantically—but somehow together; in sync—her legs wrapping around his waist as he pushed into her, trying to ignore the fact he was already teetering on that blissful edge.

Her fingernails scraped the skin of his back and friction was building where they were so intimately joined, when she started screaming his name. But when he lowered his face to the crook of her neck and started placing wet kisses against her skin, she grabbed onto the sides of his cheeks and forced his lips to make contact with hers.

Her fingers tangled in his dark locks as her lips separated under the pressure of his, his tongue slipping into her mouth to find hers waiting to play. Their tongues swirled together as he kept moving, pushing into her, thrusting faster and faster, Emma releasing another passionate moan into the kiss.

Killian's thrusts increased in speed and she picked up the pace right along with him, meeting his every thrust. Their moans echoed off the walls, and as Emma’s climax hit, his name falling from her lips, her silken walls clamping down on him, triggering his own release, he felt as though he had died and went to heaven, the euphoria of his climax wiping away every stray thought that had ever existed in his mind.

He collapsed on top of her, her arms and legs still wrapped around him as he attempted to slow his breathing and heartbeat.

Holy hell.

That was … Intense.

He needed a moment to regain control over his limbs—but when he tried to move, Emma merely tightened her arms around him and pressed her lips to his temple.

“No,” she whispered, “Don’t move for a moment… Just…. Just stay.”

“That was so good,” he purred in her ear, trailing his fingers up and down her side, “You will be the death of me someday, Swan.”

She smiled lazily and ran her fingers up and down his spine. “I’m too tired to talk—so I’m going to reserve the right to slap you for another date.” He grinned, feeling her body humming underneath his touch, her muscles completely relaxed in the aftermath of her pleasure.

Pleasure he had given her.

He smirked at the thought and suppressed the urge to whisper, “You’re welcome,” in her ear.

She looked so damn sated, it surged up his manly pride another notch. Her hair was still tangled and curly, her thick, golden locks spread out over the dark sheets. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and slightly glazed, her lips swollen and red from his insistent kisses.

He decided it was a good look on her—being all well-loved and in their bed—it’d remind her who she belonged to.

He was blissfully happy, his mood light and playful, until Emma whispered, “Nice try… We’re still going.”

Damn it.

.

.

.

**Snow**

**_(Meanwhile, at Granny’s)_ **

Henry was bouncing up and down in his seat, his bright smile standing in enormous contrast to his sombre mood from the past two days. From the moment they had returned to the hospital and walked in on Emma and Killian cuddling and laughing on the hospital bed last night, Henry had been smiling non-stop.

Snow had been quite relieved herself to see her daughter smile again—even though Charming had been grumbling something about filthy pirates that couldn’t keep their hands to themselves—and to see Killian happy again.

It had pained her to see the both of them so broken, so hurt—she cared so much for them both, and she wanted nothing more than for them to be happy; but she had been  well-aware that they had to figure it own on their own.

And she had been delighted to find that they had .

Right now, she was rather on edge, her nerves strained at the thought of the coming conversation over dinner. She knew how difficult this was for Emma; she had been extremely tense and nervous when they had made the plans—though Snow was almost certain Killian had his ways of calming her down.

She shook her head at that thought—too much information—and focused her attention back on her husband and her grandson, who were goofing around and both grinning like fools.

“Oh,” Henry exclaimed, his smile growing on his lips, his eyes glowing brightly, “There’s Elena! Can I go say hi?” Snow smiled indulgently  and nodded, smiling as Henry shot out of the booth, faster than a speeding bullet, skidding to a stop in front of the girl Snow was pretty sure he had a crush on.

It was adorable.

Charming grumbled at her side, drawing her attention back to him. “They’re late,” he grumbled, an unhappy pout tugging on his lips, “That pirate is a bad influence on her already.” Snow resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him—even after five months, Charming hadn’t quite warmed up to the idea of their daughter dating a notorious pirate.

Even though he wasn’t quite so notorious since he’d gotten here.

“Charming,” she sighed, caressing his cheek lightly, “She’s a grown woman; I doubt whether she would just let him _corrupt_ her.” He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, and she grinned.   
Though she had her own bouts of frustration over having missed _so_ much with Emma, she seemed to be a little bit better at regulating it than he was; for one, she hadn’t thrown a hissy fit when she heard Emma had asked Killian to move in with her and Henry.

She sighed—she had an idea why Killian and Emma were late; and she was willing to bet anything that was why Charming was so grumpy too; and she wished that they would hurry up and finish their precious alone-time already—Charming was on edge as it was.

Her eyes strayed to Henry, who was laughing and chatting happily with Elena, while Alli was talking to Ruby at the bar. Her heart seemed to grow in size as she took in the sight of her grandson blushing and stuttering to the beautiful little girl—sometimes, Snow felt a stab of pain when she remembered what Emma had told her; Elena would never know her father because of Regina; and she couldn’t find her grandparents because of another witch that had locked her mother up in a tower.

She felt for Alli; losing one’s True Love was something you _couldn’t_ truly recover from, and she didn’t understand how Regina—who had lost her own True Love—could do it to someone else.

She thanked the Gods every day for being reunited with her family; for being given a chance to be a mother to Emma and a grandmother to Henry and a wife to Charming—she loved her life now; even if she wished she could take back the years that had left Emma alone and vulnerable.

Vulnerable to monsters like that Neal.

Oh, what she would do to the man if she got her hands on him...

Charming tensed up beside her, and she looked back at him—he was staring at the door, his eyes full of a myriad of emotions.

She followed his gaze and smiled at the sight of Emma and Killian walking in together—he had his arm wrapped around her shoulder, and her arm was slung around his waist. Both of them looked rather flustered and windswept—which only confirmed her suspicions—but ridiculously happy.

She smiled as her daughter and Killian wandered over to where Henry was standing with Elena and engaged in a short conversation with the two children. She didn’t miss the look Emma and Killian exchanged, nor the soft kiss that followed when Killian brushed his hook over Emma’s stomach lightly.

It made her wonder if they had had more serious conversations about their future— _she_ , for one, would love more grandchildren.

“They look so happy,” she sighed, sinking against her husband slightly. He grunted in agreement, pressing his lips to her hair.

“He’s still a pirate,” he grumbled, “Why did it have to be a pirate? She deserves a prince.” She sighed. “Charming, he loves her—like no one else would ever love her; they understand each other. What more could we ever want for her?”

She felt him breath in a couple of times, his body strung and tense. “I wish she never would’ve been hurt by that piece of shit.”

She closed her eyes, her heart clenching at the desperation and guilt laced in his tone, her own guilt over the matter playing up again. “There’s nothing we can do about that now,” she said softly, trying to hold back tears at the thought of how alone and scared and hurt Emma had to have been, “All we can do is be there for her now. She has Henry now, and Killian, and _us_.”

“I’m her father though,” he stated quietly, “I should’ve been able to protect her—I’m supposed to protect her.”

“But you didn’t—I didn’t,” Snow responded quietly, snuggling deeper in his embrace, “We couldn’t. And there’s nothing we can do to change that now, Charming.” They both knew she was right—it was the truth; a sad, horrible truth, but the truth nonetheless.

“This world doesn’t work like ours,” she continued, her eyes never straying from her daughter, who was laughing and talking to Alli and Elena and Henry and Killian, “Sometimes the bad guy gets away with it—sometimes they win. But Emma’s moving on from that; we need to help her with that—she has Killian, and Henry to remember what she’s fighting for, and when she needs strength, she’ll know we’re here for her now, even though we couldn’t be there before—that’s what we need to do. There’s no use in lingering on the past; we have to focus on the future.”

She believed Emma’s future was bright, and filled with love and happiness—and it would make up for the years she spent alone; it _had_ to.

Charming nodded slowly, his eyes never straying from Emma and Killian, who seemed to gravitate towards one another, no matter how far they were apart—it was quite endearing to see.

“You’re right,” he muttered, smiling at Emma when she, Henry and Killian finally made their way to the booth, “You’re right. We need to look at the future.” He fell silent for a moment, and then whispered, “So when are you going to tell her about _our_ future? When are we going to tell her she’s having a brother or sister?”

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(A little while later)_ **

She breathed in deeply when the conversation at their table died down a little. This was it—she’d have to tell Henry she lied to him; and she wasn’t looking forward to his reaction to that news.

“So,” she began, her voice shaking—Killian took her hand in his and caressed her palm softly, attempting to soothe her; she swore she loved him even more for that—, “Henry… We need to talk to you about something.”

Henry’s eyebrows knotted and he bit his lip, his eyes darting from her to Killian and back. “Are you two having a baby? Because I’d be cool with that.”

Killian, who’d been drinking from his rum—of course—choked and spilled most of his precious alcohol down his shirt, coughing loudly, while Snow and David both stared at Henry with wide eyes.   
“No!” she shook her head, waving her hands in front of her, “No, not at all! No, kid, that’s not what I’m trying to say.”

“Oh,” Henry said, frowning lightly, “Well, then… Are you getting married?” Before she could respond to that, Killian patted her son on the back and shook his head with a smile. “Not yet lad, not yet.”

_Yet?_

When he finally looked back at her, she raised an eyebrow, but he merely winked at her, gesturing to continue. “Okay,” she breathed, running a hand through her hair, trying to stifle her urge to just blurt out the entire story, “Do you remember what I told you about your… Your father?”

Henry’s lips turned down a little, but he nodded. “Yeah. You said he died a hero.”

She smiled shakily, tightening her grip on Killian’s fingers subconsciously, “I might’ve told you a bit of a variation of the truth.” Henry paled visibly, his eyes darkening slightly.

“Then what is the truth?” He asked, his tone cold and hard—she’d never heard him use that tone on her before, and it broke her heart.  “We met when I was really young,” she started, giving him the condensed, but still honest version of what had happened all those years ago—telling him the real reason she had to give him up for adoption.

“I was charged and convicted for his crime,” she said softly, keeping her eyes trained on Henry’s tear-filled ones, “and I had you when I was in jail. And I couldn’t keep you; I wasn’t allowed to. Because I couldn’t take care of you.”

Henry shook his head, tears dripping down his cheeks, “So you lied to me? My dad wasn’t a hero? You were put in jail because of him?”

“Henry,” she said, her heart breaking because she _knew_ how much she had hurt him by lying, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d ever meet him—I didn’t think we’d ever have to see him again.”

“But you _lied_!” Henry cried, jerking away from her when she tried to touch him, “You’re just as bad as Regina!” She felt nauseous at those words, wincing when Henry jumped up, ignoring her parent’s and Killian’s pleas to sit down again, and spat, “I don’t want to meet him, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I don’t want a coward as a father.”

And with that, he stormed off, running out of the Diner, leaving everyone inside staring at the booth he had just vacated. She let a shuddering breath fall from her lips and covered her face with her hands. “Well,” she choked, “that went well.”

Killian pressed a kiss to her temple and squeezed her hand. “He’s just upset, love. He’ll understand when he’s calmer. I’ll go talk to him.” He got up too, squeezing her hand one more time before following Henry outside.

She watched with teary eyes as he kneeled beside her son, who had fallen to the ground next the door, just outside the Diner, and managed a smile. Killian was right—Henry would understand. He was a smart kid—he’d forgive her; even if it too forever, she was going to earn his forgiveness.

She looked back to Snow and David, smiling gently. “Thanks for being here,” she sniffed, “But I think it’s best if we discuss this just the two of us. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Snow smiled and nodded. “Okay. We’re just going home then.” She and David got up, hugged her tightly, whispering reassurances in her ear and smiled one more time before taking their leave. Emma collapsed back onto the bench and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

She had known Henry would take this hard—she just wished she could fix it.

“Anything else I can get you?” Ruby’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up and shook her head. “No, thanks, Rubes. I’m just going to wait for Killian and Henry, and then we’ll be off. Thanks though.”

Ruby nodded, offering her a smile before moving to the next booth. She closed her eyes again, leaning her head back against the back of the booth—she was tired; both physically and emotionally. She just wanted to go home and snuggle up on the couch with her pirate and her son.

“So,” a harsh, female voice broke her from her daydreams about Killian and Henry, “You’re the bitch that stole _my_ man.”

Her eyes snapped open, meeting a pair of grayish blue eyes, filled with malice, contempt and jealousy. She swallowed thickly.

“Milah.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Killian**

He swallowed thickly at the look of hurt and desperation on his Swan’s face as Henry ran out of the Diner, leaving the four of them behind, all of them equally stumped by Henry’s response.

“Well,” Emma winced, her voice thick with unshed tears, “That went well.” He sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple, tightening his fingers around hers for a brief moment. He loathed seeing her this upset—and he knew only Henry could make the look of hurt disappear from her face. “He’s just upset, love,” he said, smiling gently, “He’ll understand when he’s calmer. I’ll go talk to him.”

Slowly, he stood, glancing towards the exit, where he could just barely see Henry sitting outside, squeezed her hand softly and offered her—what he hoped was—a reassuring smile. He could feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of his head as he followed Henry outside and suppressed the urge to turn and smirk at her; even in the most dire circumstances, she stared at him.

He rolled his eyes, imagining the slap she would undoubtedly treat him on if she would hear him, and refocused his attention on the boy that had snuck his way into his affections so easily.

Henry had sunk to the ground next to the Diner door, his eyes red and swollen, his cheeks still wet with tears. “Come lad,” he sighed, sinking to his knees next to the boy, “Those tears are not necessary, are they?”

Henry looked up at him, a defiant glint shining in his brown eyes—Killian almost smirked at the lad; he looked too much like his mother when he glared at him like that. “My mom lied to me,” he spat, “Both of my moms are liars.”

Killian sighed, uncertain on how to handle the situation—he hadn’t felt the need to take care of someone in decades; and he had lost Penelope even longer before that. He didn’t know if he could still do it—the whole ‘being a parent’.

“Let’s walk, lad,” he finally said, “Sitting on the cold ground will not solve anything.” He straightened and brushed some dirt from his jeans, before offering Henry his hand to help him up.  The boy seemed to contemplate for a moment before taking his hand and letting Killian pulling him back to his feet.

They walked in silence for a moment—Killian allowed the lad to straighten out his thoughts,  remembering just how troubled a young boy’s mind could be at Henry’s age—add the lad’s wit and past experiences to that and…

Well, he understood how it might all be a little too much for him.

“Talk to me, m’boy,” he finally spoke, glancing to the boy from beneath his lashes—he couldn’t help him if the lad refused to speak to him. “Tell me what is on your mind.”

“I thought she loved my dad,” Henry finally said, so softly Killian nearly missed it, “I thought that; even if he wasn’t her True Love, at least she loved him. Or that he loved her.” Infinite sadness crept into the young boy’s voice, and Killian winced.

The lad had seen too much for his age.

He could see how troubled Henry was by the newfound revelation about his father, and was overwhelmed by his need to protect the lad from more harm—he would love to sink his hook into Neal’s coronary artery to keep the man away from his family.

Unfortunately, the man in question was nowhere to be seen; and he needed to comfort Emma’s son; a boy he was starting to love as though he were his own. “Lad,” he sighed, gently stopping Henry, “Your mother loved your—,” he nearly choked, “ _father_ very much—I do not presume to know what he felt for her, but that does not change the fact that your mother _loves_ you. And very much so.”

“I know that,” Henry said quietly, “I just wish she didn’t lie. She could’ve told me.”

Killian was silent for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, unsure of how to put this so that Henry would understand. “You know I once had a daughter, don’t you lad?”

Henry nodded. “Yeah… But Mr. Gold took her from you after he killed your girlfriend.” Killian flinched at the reminder of Milah and her betrayal, but nodded nonetheless. “Aye, he did. He killed Milah—or pretended to—and then he wanted to take my little girl too,” Henry was staring at him with rapped attention, and though Killian physically _ached_ at the memory, he realized that it was the only way to make Henry understand why Emma had kept Neal’s existence from him.

“But I had something left to bargain with—the crocodile wanted a magic bean; a bean that I possessed. So, despite that I had just watched the man kill my beloved,” he breathed in deeply, “I tried to make a deal with him. For the sake of my daughter, I tried to make a deal with the man that ripped my life apart. I would have done _whatever_ it took to protect her, m’boy. Including making a deal with the devil, or lying to her.”

Henry’s lower lip quivered. “So… She was just trying to protect me?”

Killian smiled and ruffled Henry’s hair affectionately. “Aye lad, she was. She loves you—she was only ever thinking about what she thought was best for you.”

He didn’t quite expect Henry’s response, and staggered back a few paces when the boy threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Killian,” he exclaimed, his words slightly muffled against Killian’s shirt.

He laughed and hugged him back, patting his back gently. After a moment, Henry pulled back and bit his lip. “Is it bad that I don’t want to meet him? My dad, I mean? I don’t want to meet a man who hurt my mom.”

Killian shook his head, smiling fondly at the boy that had so much of Emma in him. “No, lad, that’s not a bad thing. It’s all up to you. If you don’t want to see him, then you don’t have to.”

Henry nodded slowly, his eyes faraway and dreamy. Killian wondered what he was thinking about for a moment, before his thoughts once again wandered off the past few days—had one told him years ago that Milah was alive and well, and that she would come back for him, he would have been overjoyed.

He might even have forgiven her for leaving him and Penelope in the first place.

But now…

Now Emma had shown him what love truly felt like, and he would not give it up for the world. He loved Emma, and he loved the boy standing next to him, and he would fight to stay with them.

“Killian?” Henry’s soft voice broke him from his thoughts. He shook off his thoughts and smiled at Henry. “Aye, lad?”

The boy blushed and bit his lip. “Is it okay if I call you dad? I mean,” Henry stuttered and continued, “You’re in love with my mom, and she loves you, and you act like a dad, and I really like it and—” Killian fell to his knees before Henry, his hand and hook resting on the boy’s shoulders, his eyes brimming with unshed tears—he was beyond touched that Henry would ever consider him a father figure.

“I’d love that, m’boy,” he said, his accent thicker than usual, “But please, do not feel pressured to call me dad. You may call me whatever you like.”

Henry nodded, smiling brilliantly—and once again, Killian saw Emma reflected in her son’s features; and it made his heart squeeze in longing. “Let’s go back to your mother, lad,” he smiled, getting to his feet again, feeling lighter than he had in years—he felt _happy_.

Henry smiled at him. “Okay dad. Let’s go.”

.

.

.

**Emma**

She stared at the—admittedly, very beautiful—woman that sat before her,  glaring at the woman’s audacity to actually look smug. She could see what both Gold and Killian had seen in her—there was a certain aura that surrounded her; something that drew you in; but Emma sensed the danger that lurked within her too.

“What do you want, Milah?” She spat, feeling no obligation whatsoever to be nice to her—there was no lost love between them; Milah had hurt Killian in a way he should never have been hurt by someone who claimed to love him—and Milah was very, _very_ lucky that they were in a public place…

Emma narrowed her eyes at her. She was not to be held responsible for her deeds if she ever got her hands on the woman that had broken _her_ pirate when no one could see them.

She’d commit murder; and she’d make sure to frame Neal for it too, while she was at it. She shook her head at her dark, dangerous thoughts. It was stupid to think like that—but God knew it was a very tempting thought.

Milah leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know exactly what I want. I want what is mine. I want Killian.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry—I was under the impression that Killian was perfectly capable of making his own decisions.” She shot Milah her best _I’m-pretending-to-be-nice-but-I-hate-your-sorry-ass-smile_ and added, “So, what? After he rejected you, you decided to try to scare me away from him?”

She actually laughed at that thought—as if. “Well, I’m sorry,” she smirked, “but see, if my parents ever taught me anything, it’s to never give up on True Love.”

Milah rolled her eyes dismissively. “Please, you’re the cute little girl he uses to forget me—don’t you, for a second, believe you’re the first girl he tricked into believing he loves you. It’s pathetic.” Emma had to give it to her—if Milah had shown up a week ago, she might actually have believed her; but now…

Now Milah’s words had no power over her.

She leaned forward, and whispered conspiratorially, “Actually, since our Kiss has broken two curses already, I’m pretty sure he’s not trying to trick me.” She leaned back and shrugged, “But hey, who am I to tell you that? Why don’t you ask him?”

She met Milah’s gaze and nearly burst out laughing—she was _fuming_ ; it wouldn’t even have surprised Emma if smoke would steam from her ears right now.

She needed to finish this though—she really couldn’t resist.

“Oh, right,” she exclaimed, widening her eyes innocently, “You did, didn’t you? And he chose me. Well tough luck, honey.” She leaned in for emphasis, “Go find someone else to mess with. This pirate is mine.”

 Milah opened her mouth, undoubtedly to spout more crap that Emma just really didn’t have the patience for, but they were interrupted by Ruby’s perky, yet concerned voice.   
“Everything okay here?” She asked, her eyes flitting between Emma and Milah—Emma tried not to smile at the thought of Ruby backing her up.

“Yeah,” she smiled mischievously at Ruby, before turning to look at Milah with her eyebrow raised. “We’re good, aren’t we? In fact,” she stressed, “Milah was just leaving.”

Milah glared at her, and she was sure that, if looks could kill, she would be dead on the floor right now—she refused to let it get to her though; she was not intimated by Milah whatsoever.   
She _was_ worried what’d happen if Killian would see her again though—he had been a heartbroken mess after their last conversation, and she wanted to spare him the pain of having to face Milah’s betrayal again.

She was drawn from her thoughts when Milah stood slowly, placed both palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “This,” Milah hissed, her eyes shooting daggers, “ _isn’t_ over. Killian was _mine_ first, and he will be again.”

There was something ominous about the statement—something that made Emma’s heart clench.  She chewed the inside of her cheek, debating whether or not punching Milah in the face was a good idea.

She glared right back at Milah, determined not to back down first—all of her anger and resentment was currently directed at the woman who insisted on breaking _her_ pirate’s heart all over again just to get her way.

“We’ll see,” she finally hissed in response, standing up too. Milah glared at her for one, long moment before turning on her heel and striding from the Diner—her head held high, almost as though she owned the place.

When she slammed the door behind her, Emma sagged back down onto the bench, leaning her head back against the wall of the booth. She was _so_ tired, all of a sudden.

Today had been too much—she really just wanted to go home and curl up on the couch with some hot cocoa and her son and boyfriend. Ruby patted her shoulder gently. “Who was that?”

Emma sighed heavily and rolled her head slightly to look at her mother’s best friend. “Someone I hope we’ll never see again.” Ruby bit her lip, but nodded, accepting—to Emma’s great relief—her explanation.

The doorbell clanged, and Ruby looked up, a smile forming on her lips. “And there are your boys,” she grinned wolfishly, “I’ll go get the check for you.” Emma’s heart pounded, and she swallowed thickly—Milah had disappeared from her thoughts instantly; all she could think about was Henry.

She prayed that Killian had managed to calm him down, and she hoped that Henry would be willing to let her explain now. Slowly, she looked around, her stomach churning, to see her pirate and her son walking up to her—and she couldn’t really read either of them, which infuriated her more than she cared to admit.

She stood slowly, unsure of how to approach her son—she wasn’t sure if he was still angry at her.

She took a deep, shaky breath, and smiled shakily at Henry. “Hey kid.” She noticed his quick, adorable half-smile flit over his lips before he turned serious again—too serious for a child his age, she scowled—and asked, “Can we go home now?”

She faltered, and looked up at Killian—he smiled encouragingly at her and nodded. “Why don’t you two go ahead, love,” he smiled, pulling her closer by her hand, so he could wrap his arms around her—and God, she loved being in his arms—and pressed his lips to her forehead, “I’ll pay the wolf girl for our meal. I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, unendingly appreciative of the time he was offering her with Henry, “See you at home then?” He smiled at her and nodded, stroking her cheek softly, but she saw through it—he was troubled; and for the first time since they walked in, she wondered if he had seen Milah leave.

She certainly hoped not.

“Go, lass,” he whispered, breaking her from her thoughts, “you and Henry need to talk this over; and I would think it best if I were not there to interfere.”

She swallowed thickly—she didn’t like the idea of separating herself from Killian; bad things tended to happen when they did part ways. “But—” she tried to protest, even though she knew he was right, her son was her priority—and the conversation they needed to have would be a lot easier without Killian there.

“No, Emma,” he shook his head, “Go home. I’ll be along shortly, lass. Go talk to your son.” He pushed her back slightly and sent another smile her way, nodding towards Henry, who seemed to be looking at them with an amused smile.

“Okay,” she sighed, “okay.” He smirked at her and planted a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before turning and heading for the bar, leaving her wanting more—stupid pirate, she grumbled, as she lead her son out the door, to their home.

They needed to talk. And she wasn’t looking forward to most of it.

She sighed. This night was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

She glanced down at her son.

More blasts from the past.

.

.

.

Henry settled under the covers—he had just run upstairs, dressed in his PJ’s and crawled in his bed as soon as they got home, before she got the chance to protest—, looking up at her with large, curious eyes—she swallowed and sat down on the bed next to him. Emma tried to think of a good way to start off the conversation, but she came up empty-handed.

Whatever she would say, she had still hurt Henry by lying to him; good reason or not.

“I’m sorry, kid,” she finally blurted, going for her usual approach—tactless, blunt and honest. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.” Henry bit his lip and fumbled with a loose thread on the duvet. “I know, mom… I’m sorry I yelled at you—I get it now. I know why you did it.”

Emma blinked a few times, unsure what she was supposed to make of that. “What do you mean, kid?” She asked softly, smiling gently at him when he finally looked up at her.

He sighed. “Well, dad told me that he tried to make a deal with Mr. Gold to keep Penelope from getting hurt, even though he had just killed his girlfriend—” Emma frowned, partly because she really didn’t see where this was going, and partly because she remembered how much it had hurt Killian to tell _her_ the tale last time; she hated the thought of him going through it again, and _holy shit_ , did Henry just call Killian _dad_?

“—but that he would’ve done anything to protect Penny…” Henry sighed and looked up at her with big, innocent brown eyes. “And that’s what you were doing, wasn’t it? I mean, you didn’t want me to get hurt like you were, so you lied.”

Emma felt a large lump form in her throat, tears burning in her eyes once again. She couldn’t believe Killian had used his own, messed-up, heartbreaking past to explain something like this to Henry—it was above and beyond, even for him.

She smiled at Henry and nodded, pulling her son into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Henry. I just didn’t want you to get hurt too.” He returned the hug, nodding against her. “I know, mom. It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore; I forgave you already.”

One tear ran down her cheek at that, her heart feeling so much lighter at the words—he forgave her. He understood.

She really did have the best kid ever.

She snorted a laugh when that thought crossed her mind, and hugged her son a little closer. “I love you, Henry.”

She could feel him smile as he whispered, “I love you too, mom.”

.

.

.

**Killian**

He opened the door to the apartment with a weary sigh,  exhausted from the day’s events. The talk with Henry, rehashing old memories and seeing Milah leave the Diner—he was certain it had been  her; and he wanted to know what the bloody hell she’d been doing there—had bereft him from any and all energy he had left, and all he wanted now was to fall asleep with Emma in his arms, where he knew she was safe.

He heard voices drift from Henry’s room and smiled—even if Henry had not been born his, he considered the lad his own; and having Henry call him ‘dad’...

It made him wonder when his life—that had never been this close to perfect before—would start falling apart. When the next challenge or danger would come along and rip apart the life that he had established here; whether it be the Crocodile, or Cora, or Milah, or the bloody wanker that was Henry’s father, or something else—he just knew something would come.

And for the first time in a very long time, he found himself fearing that day; the day a new challenge would arise—because he wasn’t sure how much more heartache he could take; he wasn’t sure how much Emma could take anymore.

He ran his hand through his hair and closed the front door behind him, shrugging off his leather jacket before heading for the kitchen. He needed rum—he would have to ask Emma about Milah, and he preferred to have rum in his system if they were going to talk about that bitch. 

She better not have hurt Emma or said anything to make her doubt their relationship again, because he swore to the Gods, he would find her and kill her for it—no matter his previous attachment to her; if she hurt Emma…

He shook his head and pulled a full bottle from the liquor cabinet, deciding he needed the entire bottle, not just a few glasses.

He was just _so_ tired.

He collapsed onto the couch, waiting patiently for Emma and Henry to finish their talk, while occasionally taking a healthy swig from the bottle of rum. He felt extremely conflicted—he was relaxed, and felt at peace, but at the same time, his muscles were still taunt, stiff, waiting for the next shoe to drop—and he hated it.

He just wanted to be with Emma; he wanted their life to go smoothly, for once.

That couldn’t be too much to ask, could it?

He was broken from his thoughts as Emma bounded down the stairs, stopping for a moment at the final step, before a achingly beautiful smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Hi,” she said softly, the warm glow in her eyes seemingly growing more intense as she approached him. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when she sank down on the couch next to him, curling into his embrace instantly.

His inner turmoil died down a little as Emma settled herself against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers idly toying with the buttons on his shirt. He sighed softly and nuzzled his nose in her soft, golden hair—he loved how good it felt to be with her.

“How’s the lad?” he said softly, never removing his face from her hair, loving the scent of vanilla and cinnamon that always lingered in her soft golden locks. He traced soft circles on the warm, soft skin beneath her shirt, enjoying feeling her muscles relax underneath his questing fingers.

“He’s okay now,” she replied softly, “Thank you,” she then added, sitting up suddenly, her fingers caressing his cheeks. “Thank you so much for talking to him—for helping him understand.”

He smiled at her. “You’re welcome, lass. Are you alright?” He studied her appearance, frowning at how utterly _tired_ she looked. She nodded wordlessly, smiling at him—but he saw something; a flash of something in her eyes.

She _was_ hiding something.

“Emma,” he growled, tilting her chin up with his hook, so she would him in the eye. “I saw her,” he said softly, “I saw her leave the Diner. What did she want?” His voice was low, his anger and worry and fear all bleeding together into an indiscernible emotional turmoil that had him so on edge, he was worried he might snap—worried that Captain Hook; the monster he had been _before_ Emma; might make an appearance.

And he didn’t want Emma to see that side of him—not now, not ever.

“Killian,” she sighed, pulling his hook from her chin, “It’s fine. I handled it.” Her tone begged him to just drop it—but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t just let the fact that Milah had been harassing Emma go—he was done with that woman; he just wished she would disappear from his life already.

“It’s not fine,” he growled—his hand rose to touch her cheek, his eyes roaming her face greedily, taking in every inch of her, the knot in his stomach loosening slightly as he realized that she was not harmed.

Not physically at least.

“Did she hurt you?” He inquired, letting his fingers linger on her cheek, the worry that gnawed at him in the pit of his stomach almost too much to bear—he couldn’t come so close to losing Emma again. He had almost lost her when the wanker walked back into their lives; he couldn’t bear it if Milah were to be the reason he really lost her.

“No,” Emma shook her head vehemently, and he couldn’t discern a lie in her gaze—the knot loosened more, and he felt as though he could breathe again, though the tension, the anxiety was still there. “Then what did she want?” He persisted, yearning to hear the answer, to know just this one little piece of the puzzle.

Emma groaned and leaned in, nuzzling her nose in the crook of his neck. He kissed the top of her head gently. “She wanted you,” Emma muttered, “She wanted you back, but I made it clear that you are _mine_.”

He shivered at the possessive tone in her voice, and then scolded his body for responding as such—though he had to admit; the thought of Emma standing up for him, claiming him as hers…

It did things to him.

He sighed, and allowed himself to finally relax—to trust Emma’s judgement. It was not easy, but other things came to the forefront of his mind once again.

Like Henry. The request to be allowed to call him ‘dad’. It was something he still found mindboggling—the idea of being a father to someone again. 

“You’re thinking so loud,” Emma whispered, her words ghosting across his skin, “What’s on your mind?”

He smiled lightly. “Your boy.” Emma sighed and rested her head against his chest, absent-mindedly playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I’m so relieved he forgave me,” she said, her heartbeat hammering against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist and replied, “He’s a smart lad, love. He just needed to put things in perspective.” She chuckled and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. “I know that. He told me that he asked if he could call you his dad.”

He grinned at the feeling of her breath tickling his neck. “Aye, he did,” he finally retorted, before releasing her from his embrace and rubbing his neck. She smiled and caressed his cheek. “How do you feel about that?”

He swallowed thickly and shrugged. “Odd. I have not considered myself to be father-material for many a year, but somehow, with Henry… It feels right.” Emma smiled so brilliantly, so sweetly at him, he briefly felt as though he could take on anything and anyone to protect his family. She wrapped her arms around him again, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before she sank into his embrace. He reveled in the feeling of her soft body this close to his, her scent filling his nostrils with every breath he took. As she shifted into a more comfortable position, her head resting on his shoulder, her fingers laced together behind his neck, he lowered his head slightly, whispering, “I love you, lass,” in Emma’s ear. Without moving—Killian guessed she was far too comfortable—Emma answered, “I love you too, you bloody annoying pirate.”

Killian chuckled lightly and closed his eyes briefly, wondering slightly if every night spent with his Swan would be this eventful, yet peaceful. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and whispered, “May I take you to bed, darling?”

She sighed against him, and whispered, “Can you just hold me tonight?” He smiled lightly, his heart—that he had not felt for a very long time—swelling with love for the blonde in his arms, as he whispered, “Aye, love. That I can do.”

He stood, lifting her bridal style, and carried her to their bedroom. He spent the night as he had promised; his arms wrapped tightly around her, never once letting go.

.

.

.

**Gold**

The little bell clanged loudly, breaking the nightly silence. The man behind the counter looked up, contempt and hatred filling his gaze as his eye fell upon the woman that stood before him.

“Milah,” he hissed, “I thought our deal specified you never returning—or have you tired of your life already?” Milah shook her head with a smile. “Oh no. I came to make a new deal; one that can be beneficial for the both of us… _If_ you are willing to listen.”

Rumpelstiltskin leant forward, both hands firmly planted on his cane. “Now, pray tell, dearie, why would I do that?”

She smirked mischievously. “Because I have something… _Someone_ you want. Someone you’ve been searching for, for a long time.” He narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded nonetheless. “Go on,” he spat, his hatred for his former wife not at all deterred by the centuries he had spent without her.

Milah smiled. “I think this part is better explained by someone else.” Before he got the chance to truly prepare for what she meant, she turned back to the door and waved someone in.   
A young man, dressed in this realms clothing, unlike Milah,  walked into the shop, and stopped next to Milah, avoiding everyone’s eye.

“Come now, honey,” Milah cooed at the man, “Don’t be shy. You wanted her bad enough to do this, remember? Go say hi to your father.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes widened in shock, and he stumbled slightly as the man looked up, and he saw his Bae’s big brown eyes stare at him. “Bae,” he choked, unable to fully understand what was happening.

“Hello Papa,” Bae said, his hands shoved in his pockets, “We need a favor.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Emma**

She smiled, ruffling up Henry’s hair, smirking at him when he wrinkled his nose and swatted at her hand. “Ugh, mom—,” he whined, “Knock it off.” She laughed, and dropped her hand dutifully, watching him ruffle through the bag he had packed.

“You sure you got everything, kid?” She asked, biting her lip nervously.

Henry rolled his eyes at her, sitting on his bed and zipping up the bag after stuffing his book in it too. “Yeah, mom, got it all.” He looked up at her from beneath his lashes—a move that made her heart clench, because it was something Neal had done so many times—and smiled, “You know this isn’t the first time I’m staying at my mom’s right?”

It still felt funny to hear Henry call both her and Regina “mom”, but it didn’t bother her anymore. Regina was his mother, and she had been for ten years, and she was trying to be good for Henry—Emma could only admire that, and encourage it.

And that was exactly what they were doing—Henry was going to spend a week at Regina’s, per his own request, because he thought it might be a little easier for his mom to deal with the aftermath of everything if he was there to support her.

And as much as Emma hated to say it, he was right.

So, they’d sat down with Regina and explained the situation as it was—Neal, Milah, their adventure in the Enchanted Forest, with Cora, and Emma’s concern over Gold laying low. Regina had surprised both her and Killian when she had said that she would do whatever it took to protect Henry, and then proceeded by thanking them for being so open with her.

Emma still wasn't sure what to make of it, but had decided not to dwell on it—Regina had been sincere; that was all that mattered. Besides, Killian had been quite looking forward to having her all to himself for an entire week—and she couldn't argue with that either.

Henry was still smiling at her, his head tilted to the side just a little bit, like he always did when he was reading her—which he was pretty damn good at, for a kid his age. She tried not to let that alarm her. ‘I know, kid, I just worry.’

Henry rolled his eyes at her. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m not that little anymore, you know. If you think about it, I was the reason the whole curse was broken, so I’m a pretty big deal too.’ She burst into laughter at that, because clearly she had let her son spend too much time with Killian—he was already rubbing off on him; in a way that amused her immensely.

“Okay, no more alone time for you and Killian anytime soon,” she exclaimed, laughing loudly. She threw a pillow at him, rolling her eyes at her son’s loud laughter.

They stilled as they heard a knock on the door and Killian’s grumbling when no one but him was around to open the door. Emma smiled at that, because she knew it was Regina at the door—she and Killian were ‘friendly’ enough around each other, but clearly, Regina hadn’t quite forgiven him for being unable to kill her mother.

Killian, on his part, hadn’t quite forgiven her for trying to trick him into doing her dirty work and nearly getting him killed.  She smirked—it made for a very amusing scene when the both of them were in the same room, trying to be civil for Henry’s sake.

“Captain,” she heard Regina state coolly, and Emma couldn’t help but smile as she pictured the scene. Henry shot her a smirk, and she knew he was picturing it too—he hadn't been there when she, Regina and Killian had talked, but he had known they were talking...

Needless to say, it had cost him ten minutes to recover from his laughing fit at the thought of Regina and Killian talking civilly.

She shook her head at Henry—that kid really was spending too much time with Killian; they were even smirking the same way—and got to her feet unsteadily. She was a little dizzy—but contributed it to her lack of sleep that night.

And the night before that.

And the night before that.

Her pirate did not seem to run out of batteries when they were in bed together.

“Come on, kid,” she smirked, “let's go put them out of their misery.” Henry pouted at her and pleaded, “Awe, but mom.. They've only been in the same room for like two minutes.” He winked at her, “I think they can hold themselves for a few more minutes.”

She burst into laughter at his mischievous expression and tugged him into a hug, ruffling his hair again. “Okay, troublemaker... We need to get you to Regina, Killian's a bad influence on you.” Henry looked up at her with an amused expression. “You want to get me away from Captain Hook's bad influence, so you're going to ship me off to the Evil Queen?”

Emma paused at that, the absurdity of the situation setting in, as she shook her head in amusement. “Yeah...” she drawled, “Let's not examine that too closely... Come on, kid. Get your bag.”

Henry shook his head at her and picked up the knapsack, running out of the room and bounding down the stairs faster than she could follow. She grinned and followed him down the stairs, smiling at how the tension seemed to melt from Killian's posture the very second she entered his line of sight—it made her heart flutter, which in turn made her scold herself for being such a teenage girl when it came to him.

Henry was already chatting animatedly with Regina, and it took her a few seconds to discern that he was trying to convince Regina to let his weekly sleepovers with Elena continue—she exchanged a knowing smile with Killian and rolled her eyes lightly.

“So, I'll see you Sunday, right kid?” she cut in, smiling carefully at Regina, who smiled back. It was a tight-lipped, tense smile, but a smile nonetheless. Henry nodded enthusiastically and hugged her briefly, turned back to Killian and waved.

“Bye mom, bye dad!” he called out, before hurrying outside, to Regina's car. Emma bit her lip as she watched him go, worry gnawing at the pit of her stomach. Neal hadn't been seen since he practically molested her in the Sheriff's Station—though that might not be such a bad thing, as Killian pointed out, or Emma would've had to lock up most of her family for murder; including him.

“Do not worry, Miss Swan,” Regina tilted her head, sending her another tight smile, “I will not let that lowlife anywhere near him.” Somehow, that managed to assure Emma—she knew that if Regina said that Neal wasn't going to come anywhere near their son, he wouldn't... And that made her feel marginally better.

She nodded tightly, staring at the closed door for a long moment after Regina had left and closed it, relaxing only when a pair of strong arms slid around her waist, and a pair of lips pressed to her temple. “Our lad will be fine, lass,” Killian whispered in her ear—her heart squeezed happily when he referred to Henry as theirs—, hugging her tightly against him.

She melted into his embrace and sighed. “I know.. But I worry anyway.” He smiled against her skin and squeezed his fingers around hers. “Perhaps you should attempt to prepare for this ‘party’ we are to attend to tonight. I do believe you promised you would blow my mind with what you were going to wear.”

She smirked—she had absolutely no doubt whatsoever that she was right about that assumption; he would lose his mind—and turned in his embrace. “Oh, but we have hours of time to fill before we need to get ready... How will we _ever_ find something to occupy us?”

Killian's blue eyes glimmered dangerously at her, before he dropped his gaze to her lips. “Oh, I believe I can think of a few... Pleasurable activities to occupy our time.”

Then his lips crashed down on hers and she willingly lost herself in his embrace.

.

.

.

She tugged nervously at the hem of her dress, unsure if letting her mother and Ruby dress her had been such a smart idea. The dress was low-cut, showing plenty of cleavage—something she was sure Killian would not mind at all—and flared below her breasts, swishing prettily around her knees. The fabric was light, laced with silver threads throughout the grey fabric.

Her mother had forced her into silver heels that made her feel afraid of heights, though she had to admit... They were really pretty.

Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in loose curls, the way she knew Killian loved it, and a silver leaf pendant rested between her breasts—she honestly felt like she was too dressed up, and she couldn't for the life of her decide what Killian and her father were talking about right now—they were at her parents’ new apartment, on the floor below theirs, her mother insisting on the girl’s getting ready together.

She stared at herself in the mirror and sighed slowly, unsure of how she felt—her life, though it was still messed up and crazy, had never been this... Complete and perfect before, and it freaked her the hell out.

She didn't know how to deal with perfect.

Perfect meant that everything could fall apart in less than a second, and that terrified her more than anything—because she finally had everything she had ever wanted; parents, her son, a family... A man that loved her for who she was—and she didn't want to lose all that again.

She wasn't sure if she could deal with losing all that.

A soft knock at the bedroom door broke her from her thoughts, and she startled, dropping the necklace she had been playing with as she turned towards the door. “Come in,” she called, still feeling slightly nervous at the doom-thoughts that were threatening to ruin her night before it had even started.

Snow poked her head in the room and squealed at the sight of Emma—she promptly covered her ears and grinned sheepishly. “Okay, mom, I got it... I look pretty.” Snow rolled her eyes and blew into the room, fussing over her. “Emma Swan, don't you dare say you look just pretty! You look absolutely gorgeous! Killian is going to fall in love with you all over again!” She ranted, straightening Emma's dress, fumbling with the necklace and pushing one of Emma's curls behind her ear.

Emma couldn't suppress the smile that tugged on her lips at her mother fussing over her—she never really had anyone to prepare for a party—that was sort of her first date with Killian too—with, and it made her feel pretty good—and terrified at the same time—to get ready for a date with her True Love with her mother.

“So,” Snow drawled as she settled down a little, and sat on Emma's bed, “I need to talk to you about something.” Emma dropped the necklace back in place—she really needed to stop playing with that thing before she broke it—and turned away from her mirror image to look at her mother, who was looking indecisively and uncharacteristically nervous, chewing on her lower lip while waiting for Emma to respond.

“Okay… About what?” She inquired, when she realized that Snow wasn't going to say anything else—she swore, if she tried to give her the talk of the birds and the bees... She might be her mother, but she was a little late with that particular conversation—if Henry wasn’t enough proof of that, she wasn’t sure what was.

“I know it’s probably stupid to tell you now,” Snow sighed and shook her head, “we’re having a party to announce the news anyway, but I thought I’d tell you first. I want to tell you like this, in person.” She gently patted the spot next to her, and Emma sighed as she plopped down next to her, her fingers already back to fumbling with the necklace as she waited for Snow to gather her thoughts and tell her whatever it was she seemed so eager to tell her.

She briefly wondered if it was something she should be worried about, but then discarded that thought—Snow wouldn’t have lingered in telling her if that were the case. And she most certainly wouldn’t be throwing a party at Granny’s.

“Okay,” Snow smiled, taking Emma’s hands in hers, “I know the timing is weird and all, and it might be a little awkward—but Charming and I are having a baby.”

Emma was momentarily stunned, frozen in place.

Snow… Baby—she.. What?

She swallowed thickly, staring at her mother, trying to process the news; not that it wasn’t great news, of course, she just hadn’t seen it coming.

Though she supposed she should have. Her parents were technically the same age as she was, so she supposed it wasn’t far-fetched.

She was having a sibling—the thing she had always dreamed of as a child; next to parents, of course. Sure, being 28 years older than her brother or sister was weird, but still. Elation spread throughout her body, and a large, shit-eating grin spread across her lips, mirrored on Snow’s face, as they fell into each other’s arms, crying and laughing.

“That’s amazing! Congrats!” She exclaimed, hugging her mother close, smiling as Snow started sobbing on her shoulder, because she remembered just how maddening those hormones were in the first few months—and how amusing everyone else seemed to think they were.

“Oh Emma,” Snow sobs, pulling back and cupping Emma’s cheeks in her hands, “This doesn’t mean we don’t love you anymore. We love you as much as we always have!”

She couldn’t suppress her laughter anymore, shaking her head at Snow. “I know that… I’m not a child anymore, mom. I know.” Snow chuckled and nodded, smiling too, squeezing Emma’s hands tightly. Emma frowned. “Wait, what about Henry? He’s not going to be there tonight.. When are we telling him?”

Snow smiled. “I told him today, at school. He was really happy too.”

Emma smiled, nodding along—of course Henry was happy; he asked Killian just last night when they were going to start working on giving him a brother or sister. She had to clap her hand over his mouth to silence the innuendo he had undoubtedly ready to fire off—as well-behaved Killian usually was around Henry, there had been slip-ups, resulting in her and Henry having to have the talk of the birds and the bees way earlier than she wanted to.

Snow seemed to read her mind, clapping her hands excitedly and exclaiming, “Speaking of which… When am I getting another grandchild?”

Emma blanched, and though a tiny part of her brain was yelling that she wanted it to be as soon as possible, the rest of her brain—and most of her still very fragile heart—was not ready for that; not by a long shot.

That didn’t stop her imagination to dream up pictures of adorable little babies with her blonde curls and his icy blue eyes—but she couldn’t; she wasn’t ready for that yet.

And neither was Killian—not that they wouldn’t be happy if it ever happened, but..

Not yet.

“No,” she shook her head quickly, trying not to feel guilty at the dejected look on her mother’s face at her quick denial, “We’re not there yet. We’re not even remotely ready for that… I mean, with everything that’s going on with Neal and Milah, and Penelope…” She sighed. “Not yet.”

Snow bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But I do want grandchildren someday!” She added, wagging her finger at Emma comically, “You two would make adorable babies!”

Emma groaned loudly, her cheeks burning as she buried her face in her hands.

Why? Why did she wish for a family again last year?

She peeked at Snow from beneath her lashes, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her own lips as she watched her mother laugh—at her expense, no less—and felt pure joy spread throughout her body.

Oh. Right.

That’s why.

.

.

.

**Killian**

**_(An hour later, at Granny’s)_ **

Emma rolled her eyes at him and sat down on a barstool, turning it to look at him—the party was well on the way, and everyone seemed to have a good time, celebrating the Queen’s pregnancy. “So, let me get this straight,” she grinned, “I’ll never be allowed to hug another man again, even if they’re really good friends, because you’ll be jealous and might accidently land your hook in their jugular?”

Killian was well aware that he was being stupid—he was not at all threatened by the Cricket, not in the least—, but his searing jealousy temporarily clouded his judgment. Of course, Emma didn't have to know that; bloody lass was too smug as it was. “I was not jealous,” he growled, wedging his body between her legs, resting his hand and hook on her hips, “I was merely stating a fact. You are mine. No other man is allowed to look at you and want you.”

She laughed shortly and wrapped her arms around him, her fingers playing with the soft locks on the back of his neck—he had to suppress the shudder that ran down his spine when her fingers touched his skin. He was never going to get used to that feeling—this True Love thing had a whole lot more side-effects than he had anticipated.

“Well,” she pouted—Damn it. She looked far too adorable to be unreasonably mad with—, “you are mine, and yet, you make me watch all of the town’s women swoon all over you! How’s that fair?”

He couldn’t help himself—the pout was irresistible—so he leaned forward and sucked her protruding bottom lip between his own, kissing her softly and sweetly for a moment before pulling away and smirking. “I never said it was,” he smirked, “Besides, you’re the one that insisted on coming here in the first place… And,” he winked and smirked devilishly at her, “I’m fairly certain you staked your claim, darling.”

“Doesn’t mean they’ll stop ogling what's mine,” she grumbled with an unhappy pout. “Well…I’m a Captain,” he declared, silently congratulating himself on finding that particular waterproof argument.

A smile tugged at her lips—he loved the way she looked when she was trying to hold back a smile—and she asked, “Are you seriously pulling rank on me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What if I was? What are you going to do about it?” She grinned playfully and grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling his front flush against hers. “I’ll tie you up again,” she purred in his ear, “Show you who's boss.” She burst out laughing when she felt the shudder than ran down his spine at her words.

Killian momentarily cursed his body for betraying him—he hated it when she could see how much she affected him—it made him feel out of control. He hated being out of control.

So, he did the only thing that would make him regain his control.

He grinned saucily and captured her lips with his, enjoying the rich taste of her lips for a moment before slipping his tongue between her lips, losing himself in her kiss, allowing her to surround him with her love.

He heard the whispers of the people around them, and he knew she did too—he felt Snow's gaze rest on his back, and he was pretty sure Alli was looking at them too—but he didn’t care, nor did he break the kiss.

Emma was in his arms, and she was his. It had taken them forever to finally get here, but she was here, in his arms, and she was simply his. The feeling of pure and utter content and happiness that the thought provided was overwhelming, and he found himself in a dire need of a bit of space for the first time in years.

Slowly—and reluctantly—he leaned away, but managed to let his lips linger on hers for just a moment longer before they parted with a soft ‘pop’.

She licked her lips slowly as she stared at him with those stormy green eyes—green eyes that were a lot darker than they had been before. “I love you,” he breathed, tightening his grip on her hips slightly, as though he wanted to pull her even closer than she already was—which wasn’t even possible.

A lazy, sated smile appeared on her lips as she leaned closer, her breath washing over his face, making his lips tingle—bloody tingle! What kind of a wanker was he? Tingling lips? Really? —and whispered, “Love you more.”

He smirked, tilting his head closer, so their lips were hardly a hair’s breadth apart, and muttered, “Impossible.”

“I just made it possible,” she muttered, before re-attaching their lips, and effectively wiping out his thoughts.

Holy hell.

 _She. Tastes. So. Good._ He moaned internally, wishing he could just drag  her over to the Ladies Room in the Diner and have his way with her—but he was aware of the dozen pairs of eyes that were resting on his back, so he refrained.

He never hated the people of Storybrooke more than he did in that particular moment.  
Unfortunately, their kiss was interrupted by Alli, who clearly decided she had seen enough, and wanted to break up their cozy chat—which Killian was enjoying immensely.

He scowled at her as he pulled away, barely able to contain a smile when Emma blushed noticeably—it took a lot to get his Swan to blush, but Alli did it. Somehow, that really didn’t surprise him all that much.

“You know,” Alli grinned, “one would think you two would be past the honeymoon-stage of being in a relationship by now.”

Killian winked. “Oh, we didn’t get to go on a honeymoon yet—which means we get to do this for as long as we want.” Emma slapped his chest and rolled her eyes. “Behave, Killian.” He let his mouth fall open in faux-shock and pretended to be hurt for a moment. Emma merely rolled her eyes at him and bit her lip.

Damn her.

She was doing that on purpose. She knew it turned him on like nothing else.

Bloody hell.

At that moment, he spotted the Doc at the bar, and decided he should leave Emma to her girl time with Alli now—he was most definitely locking her away in their bedroom for the rest of the week.

“I’m going to go see what the good Doc is up to tonight,” he said and pecked Emma on the lips softly. “I’ll see you later… Outside. In thirty minutes,” he added, winking mischievously, ignoring Alli’s groan.  
As he walked away, he could feel Emma’s eyes rest on his back.

Oh yes.

Two could play that game—he invented that bloody game.

He winked at his lovely Swan—who looked positively delectable in that dress of hers—and saluted Alli as he pushed through the crowd.

He knew how to play—and he was bloody well going to win too.

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(Thirty minutes later)_ **

The alley behind the diner was dark and empty—perfect for what they needed right now. Honestly, she was surprised he had lasted as long as he had without jumping her.

He slammed her into the wall—her heart jumped in her throat and she barely managed a squeal before his lips roughly smashed onto hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, possessing, controlling, arousing.

And then he leaned back, his breathing ragged. She felt her heart beat slightly faster and smiled softly at him, stroking his cheek gently. “I do believe it is considered quite scandalous to leave a party early to be ravished by a notorious pirate, love,” he breathed, his eyes stormy and filled with mirth. She shook her head—she wasn’t really too sure why she had insisted on coming to the party anymore—ravishing…

Now that sounded promising.

“Like I care,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his lips.

Something in Killian’s eyes changed—something sparked deep in his blue eyes—before he leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. The soft, fleeting contact sent lightening coursing through her body, her inability to think straight when Killian was around increasing even more. He leaned back, staring at her, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them before. She was already breathing heavily, and the kiss had lasted less than three seconds. 

Frustrated that he had leaned back, angry at herself for wanting more and feeling more wanton than she ever had before, she grabbed his collar and crashed her lips to his again, making him groan softly at the sudden contact. He needed only a tenth of a second to react to the passion with which she had kissed him. She poured in every ounce of passion and love she had ever felt for him into the kiss, happily accepting the deepening of the kiss as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, completely lost in the sensation of kissing him, while he hoisted her up, pressing her against the wall, groaning when she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Her heart skipped a few beats when the protruding bulge in his jeans came into contact with her heated core. She moaned softly into the kiss and felt Killian smile into the kiss, his hands sliding down to her thighs, as she rolled her hips against his.

She nearly fainted at the delicious friction between them. “Jesus Christ, Killian,” she panted against his lips, “Please, don’t stop.” Killian, on the other hand, was no better off.

Emma let one hand—keeping the fingers of her other hand locked in his hair—wander, gliding over his chest, playfully popping open the first few buttons of his shirt. He growled against her lips, before letting his lips wander down her throat and whispering, “You do realize your parents and friends are inside that building, do you not? They could walk out at any time, love.”

Contradictory to his words, he let one hand slide under the skirt of her dress, lazily tracing circles on the smooth skin of her thigh. She gasped softly before retaliating in the same manner, tracing the scars on his stomach with her fingertips.

“Gods, I love you,” Killian grunted, before pressing his lips to hers in another hot, passionate kiss. She giggled—surprising the both of them—and pulled him closer, until there was not an inch of space between their bodies, their lips still joined, tongues mating passionately and hungrily.

A sudden chill ran down Emma’s spine as a harsh voice snapped through their passionate haze. “Well, isn’t this _cute_?” They pulled apart, her heart thundering in her chest as she looked over Killian’s shoulder, to the owner of said harsh voice.

Her heart squeezed at the sight of Gold, leaning on his cane, a smug smile on his thin lips—a smile that made her feel nauseated.

She moved almost subconsciously, pushing Killian behind her—she didn’t want him to jump at Gold; she had no desire to see Gold kill him again. If she could just… Keep him behind her, shield him, maybe everything would be okay.

She winced at the tight grip Killian had on her hip, but she didn’t mind one bit—she’d gladly be his anchor if that meant he wouldn’t attack Gold and get himself killed. “Crocodile,” he spat, his voice icy and laced with deadly intent—and for the first time, Emma truly faced Killian’s Captain Hook side.

The side he kept hidden from her.

Gold tilted his head to the side, that sinister smile still on his lips as he regarded them closely—almost as though he was studying them—it made her feel even more uncomfortable, her skin crawling. “Captain,” he hissed, “You look a lot better than you did last time I saw you, I must say.”

“Get to the point,” she snapped, unwilling to be reminded of that day—the mere memory of Killian’s lifeless body on the hospital bed was a cause of nightmares for her, even now, and she did not take kindly to being reminded of it.

Gold cocked his head to the side and seemed to appraise her—his gaze nearly made her squirm, but she stood her ground. She was not some weak little girl he could manipulate, and she refused to let Gold terrorize them once again.

She met his gaze dead-on, trying hard not to blink—she would find out what he wanted and she would get the hell away from him—she would get her pirate the hell away from him before they could kill each other.

Gold smiled coldly at her. “You remember that favor you owe me, miss Swan?”

She felt Killian stiffen behind her, his grip on her hip now so tight, she was sure he’d leave bruises, as he hissed, “ _What_?” Emma bit her lip—she really should have mentioned that stupid favor to him before, but she had avoided the subject of Gold altogether—, trying not to look at him, and glared at Gold instead.

“Yeah. I remember.”

Gold smirked as Killian growled—actually growled—in her ear and continued. “I’m cashing it in.”

Emma’s stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with lead, and her heart was beating in her throat, constricting her breathing.

She had known this would happen—she knew it.

“What do you want?” She spat, trying to keep her voice steady and void of any emotion. She tried to keep Killian shielded behind her, gripping his hook tightly in her hand as his hand rested on her hip.

Gold smirked that cold, dark smirk of his, and she felt like ice was spreading through her veins. “Oh, it’s quite simple, really,” he said, in that very matter-of-fact-way of his, “You are going to give my son another chance to win your heart. The pirate will leave with his whore, as he did 300 years ago.”

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve,” Killian growled, “ _crocodile_. You married that whore, if I remember correctly. You can have her, coward. Emma is mine.”

Emma barely registered what Killian said, Gold’s words replaying in her head over and over as her body went numb in shock. Her fingers slipped from Killian’s hook as she stared at the pawnbroker, her eyes wide.

“Your son?” She choked, barely able to process the implications of those words. “Who the hell is your son?” She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat at the amusement that shone in his eyes as he nodded slowly, his intense gaze never once leaving hers.

At her words, Killian stiffened too, and he frowned. “Why bring Bae into this, Crocodile? He does not have anything to do with any of this.”

Emma kept her gaze trained on Gold’s, looking for a chink in his armor, something that would tip the scales in their favor—because she was sure that whatever Baelfire had to do with this, it wouldn’t bode well for them—especially if she needed to give him another chance; something she really didn’t understand; she’d never even met him.

Had she?

“On the contrary, dearie,” Gold smirked, his cold, deadly mask as in place as it had been before—his eyes zeroed in on Emma, who felt her insides go cold at the unspoken implications that seemed to shine from his eyes, “My son has everything to do with this. In fact,” he continued—his gaze never once leaving Emma’s—, “I do believe you do know my Bae… Quite _intimately_ too.”

Emma froze as a second figure appeared behind Gold, his hair messy as ever, his eyes large and full of apology she would never accept.

Oh God.

No.

“No,” she choked, stumbling back against Killian, needing him to hold her—so _he_ couldn’t hurt her. “No, it can’t…It can’t be,” she whispered, ignoring Killian’s urgent whispered questions in her ear as she tried to process this.

Neal was Gold’s son—Neal was Baelfire.

Her son’s grandfather was Rumpelstiltskin—the man who had cut off her True Love’s hand and killed his own wife because she had the nerve to leave him.

At least, he pretended to kill her.

Her hands shook as she raised them to cover her mouth, shaking her head. _This can’t be happening_ , she repeated a million times over in her head, allowing Killian to hold her up.  She knew, logically, that he had to be fuming, wanting to beat the crap of the man that had tried to force himself on her, and she loved him even more for restraining himself and staying by her side, where she needed him most.

She stared at Neal, desperately begging herself to wake up from this obvious nightmare—there was no way this was real. “Neal,” she choked, gripping Killian’s arm around her waist tightly, digging her nails into his skin. “You’re _his_ son?”

Her stomach churned, and she was sure she was going to be sick. She turned to glare at Gold once more, anger building up inside of her, white-hot fury bubbling in her veins. “ _You_ ,” she spat, “You did this. You orchestrated this whole thing.”

Her blood boiled, and her vision tinted red, and all she could focus on was Gold’s smug face—he had done this; he had orchestrated and fucked up _her_ life, her parents’ life, Killian’s life and so many other people’s lives, and she wanted to make him pay for it; she _would_ make him pay for it.

Something stirred, deep inside of her, something dark, and powerful and she loved the feel of it—it was the same feeling that had allowed her to fight off Cora at the Lake and Gold in Killian’s hospital room, and she quickly came to love the feeling of power it gave her.

She could protect everyone when she was this strong—she could get rid of Gold, of Neal, and even Milah—and no one would even blame her for it.

Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the ecstasy the magic made her feel, and she was barely aware that she raised her hands, slamming Gold and Neal back against the Diner’s wall. She took a few steps closer, drinking in the fear that lingered in Neal’s eyes—Good. He should fear her.

“You did this,” she hissed, unaware of anything but the delicious feel of power rushing through her veins as she crushed it against Gold’s throat. The man squeaked and squirmed pathetically, and she wanted to laugh at how pathetic the great Dark One looked.

“You ruined everything,” she spat, closing in on the pair of cowards, “you both ruined my life and now you’re trying to do it again and I am going to stop you.” She increased the pressure just a little bit, a smirk growing on her lips when the pawnbroker’s eyes bugged out lightly, and Neal turned blue.

She was so close, and she loved it—but not with Neal…

No.

That son of a bitch needed to suffer—he had ripped her heart out when she was an innocent, sweet teenage girl. She bared her teeth in a growl and jumped closer to him, reaching out towards his chest. It only seemed fair she’d return the favor now.

Her blood sang in her veins as she leaned forward, her breath washing over Neal’s terrified face. “I will enjoy this,” she whispered, taking delight in the pleasurable tingle the magic sent throughout her body.

She glanced sideways towards Gold, who looked positively afraid for the very first time—and that gave her more pleasure and satisfaction than anything else.

She smirked at him. “You _will_ watch this.”

And she turned back to Neal, abruptly sinking her hand into his chest, enjoying his cries and whimpers of pain, until her fingers wrapped around his heart. She looked up into his dark, chocolate eyes and smiled.

“Goodbye Neal.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Alli**

**_(2011, The Rabbit Hole, Storybrooke)_ **

_She wiped down the bar with a wet cloth and sighed heavily, her limbs aching with exhaustion. She was almost done with her late-night shift, and she really just wanted to go home, check on Elena and curl up in bed._

_She’d taken two extra shifts at the hospital today, and then this shift, and she was just about to keel over in exhaustion—she threw a glance to the mass of writhing bodies on the dancefloor  and groaned, trying to remember how long it had been since she had been able to do something as carefree and fun as dancing at the only club in Storybrooke—probably since before Elena had been born._

_She bit her lip and shook off those thoughts._

_She loved her daughter more than anything in the world, and she didn’t hate her life; she was just a little tired._

_Alli smiled politely at Leroy, who stumbled towards her, demanding—while slurring heavily—another whiskey. He tried to insist when she shook her head—the man was going to drink himself to death someday; but not on her watch._

_“You’ve had enough, Leroy,” she sighed, leaning onto the bar heavily, “You should just walk home.” Leroy caught  her off guard and slammed his fists down on the bar, rattling the glasses that still rested on it, and bellows, “Give me my fucking drink, you bitch! You ain’t nothing but a piece of white trash—getting yourself knocked up at eighteen and then abandoned—who are you to judge me?”_

_She felt a little shell-shocked, staring at Leroy in disbelief. She didn’t know what to say anymore, her eyes stinging with tears as she considered his words._

_Was that really what everyone thought about her?_

_She opened her mouth, trying to find something to rebuff his statement, something that’d make him hurt like her heart was aching, but she couldn’t find the words. Suddenly, a familiar voice boomed from behind Leroy—and she shivered involuntarily. “Okay, Leroy, that’s enough. Don’t make me lock you up again.”_

_She looked over Leroy’s shoulder—not that it was that hard, it wasn’t like the man was_ that _tall—and met the sheriff’s stern gaze, smiling a little at how Graham’s eyes softened when they met hers._

_“Go home, Leroy. I really don’t want to arrest you again,” Graham sighed, eyeing the small fisherman warily.  Leroy turned away from her slowly, facing Graham with a smirk. “Three times a charm, ain’t it, sheriff? I’ll save lucky number three, I think.”_

_With that, he headed towards the exit, but Alli still couldn’t relax—Leroy’s words were still on a loop, repeating themselves over and over again in her head, making her feel nauseated and lightheaded._

_“Miss Santori? Are you okay?” She looked up at Graham again, and shook her head slowly. “You know you can call me Alli, Graham. You make me feel old when you call me Miss Santori.”_

_Graham laughed and took a seat on a barstool. “Fine. Alli… Question’s the same.” She shrugged, absent-mindedly getting him a glass of bourbon—the same as always—and bit her lip. “Do people really think that?” She asked softly, unsure why she would ask Graham of all people—but he had always been nice enough to her, and she trusted him._

_He_ was _their Sheriff._

_“Do they really think of me as white trash? Because I had a child when I was eighteen?” Her eyes burned with tears as she looked at him, wishing to God that he would just come out and say it—she’d rather he just tell her to her face than feed her a bald-faced lie._

_Graham frowned a little, shaking his head as he took the tumbler with bourbon from her. “No. They do not. Not that I know of. A great many people in this town respect you for how hard you work to support yourself and your little girl—Elena, right?”_

_She smiled, nodding slowly, unsure of how to thank him—because she believed him. She knew, somehow, that he meant the things he had just told her._

_“Thank you,” she whispered, before her eyes fell upon the clock. “Oh, thank God,” she groaned, “My shift’s done. Well, thank you, Graham, for kicking Leroy out before it got out of hand.” She smiled gratefully at Graham as she grabbed her purse from behind the bar and pulled her jacket on quickly._

_As she started to leave, Graham grabbed her arm, pulling her back slowly. Her breathing hitched in her throat when he took a single step closer to her and stroked a lock of hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his proximity making her shiver, “Leroy is a drunken madman. Please, don’t listen to anything he says about you.”_

_She wasn’t even sure why she reacted like this._

_She didn’t even like Graham like that—did she?_

_Sure he was attractive, but … Ew. No._

_Right?_

_“D—Don’t worry about it,” she stuttered, “I work in a bar. I know better than to listen to him.”_

_He smiled a lopsided grin—a grin she instantly decided she loved._

_“So,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, his body still unnervingly close to hers, “Should I escort you home?” She rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t help but smile a little._

_She opened her mouth, fully intending to tell him she would be perfectly fine, when her eyes met his. It was almost as if his eyes were drawing her in._

_Graham’s eyes sparked, and he leaned closer, crossing the little space between them within a single second. She gasped softly when he let his hand rest against her cheek, softly caressing her cheek with his thumb._

_His breath washed over her face, leaving her lips tingling in anticipation._

_Realization dawned on her as she realized this was exactly what she wanted. Her heart started beating faster at the thought of his lips in contact with hers. She was so close to getting what she was now dreaming of, and somehow, she could tell Graham felt it too._

_“Alli,” he breathed, “We shouldn’t...” She let her breath escape through her teeth, disappointed that he had broken the magical moment._

_Wait. What? Disappointed? What the hell was wrong with her?_

_She pulled away, blushing vigorously.  “Yeah, right. Um . . .” She trailed off, running a hand through her hair nervously. She shook her head, and turned away, nearly running from him, heading towards the exit._

_“Goodnight, Alli,” she heard him call behind her, the Irish lilt to his voice making her shiver. Her heartbeat had sped up again, and she silently scolded herself for allowing herself to react to his voice like that._

_She bit her lip, scolding herself for looking at Graham that way—she knew he and Mayor Mills had a thing; everyone did. It was their most public secret._

_She was so stupid._

_._

_._

_._

**Alli**

**_(Present, The Charmings’ Party, Granny’s Diner)_ **

Ruby giggled and poked her side teasingly. “So, did you see our favorite couple sneak off through the backdoor?” Alli rolled her eyes at her best friend and Killian antics and nodded. “Of course I did. They weren’t exactly being inconspicuous about it.”

Ruby grinned. “No, they most certainly were not. Hey, how does it feel, being out and about for the night? No kids, no responsibilities.. What are you gonna do tonight?” She winked and added, “Or _who_?”

Alli winced lightly—she really didn’t want to hook up with anyone; the thought of anyone but Graham touching her like _that_ made her cringe.

She’d never wanted anyone else before, and she still didn’t.

Running a hand through her hair nervously, she tried to avoid that question. “I’m not sure. What should I be doing?”

Ruby giggled. “How about you start with dancing with one of the fine gentlemen in town? There’s more than one of them staring at you, girl.”

Alli closed her eyes in desperation and sighed.

Of course Ruby would notice things like that.

She had not told anyone but Emma and Snow about Graham; though she was sure David and Killian were aware too;—she didn’t feel comfortable to. Of course, there had been questions about her daughter’s father—but she avoided that question; like she knew Jefferson avoided questions about Grace’s mother too.

She liked the Hatter—Grace and Elena were friends, and she talked to him from time to time—he was always nice to her.

Sure, he was a little ‘round the bend, but he wasn’t a bad guy.

She turned her attention back to Ruby and shook her head. “Ruby, I really don’t—” Ruby clapped her hand over mouth before she could finish—Alli rolled her eyes at her—and exclaimed, “Girl, you do not get to say “no”! You don’t get out enough—you need to loosen up, girl,” Ruby smirked devilishly, “take one of the guys home;  enjoy yourself.”

Alli blushed profusely at her friend’s comment, but otherwise tried to ignore it. She just pulled Ruby’s hand from her lips and shook her head. “Not gonna happen, Rubes. I don’t want to take any of these guys home.” She hoped this answer would get her friend off her back, “I mean it. I’m not into them; none of them.”

Ruby sighed. “Not even Jeff? You two would be so cute together!”

Alli had just taken a swig from her beer and nearly choked on it. “W—What?” she managed to choke. “Me and Jefferson? Are you mad? What gave you that idea?” Ruby crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at her friend. “Why not? You like him, right? Besides.. Jeff would be an idiot not to want you—have you looked at yourself lately? And,” Ruby added, “you have to be about the only girl he talks to without leering or being creepy and insane.”

“So?” Alli said, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the conversation with each passing second. Her friend was lovely, and so sweet, but she really didn’t want to have this conversation. “So?” Ruby echoed, her disbelief ringing loudly in Alli’s ears. “The man is hot!” Ruby exclaimed, “He’s insane too, yes, but I’m not blind; that is one fine piece of ass. Why on earth wouldn’t you go for it?” Alli groaned when several heads in the diner turned to look at Ruby.

“Jesus, Ruby,” she hissed, “keep it down a little.”

Ruby couldn’t suppress a smile. “Look,” she said, poking Alli’s side, “I don’t care how many times you try to deny it, I know better.” Ruby grinned, “It’s a wolf thing.” Alli groaned and shook her head, downing her leftover beer in one go.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ruby,” she muttered, trying to ignore the sick, heavy feeling that had her stomach churning. Ruby didn’t pick up on the tension that rolled from Alli in waves, and bumped her shoulder against Alli’s, smirking.

“And who knows,” she exclaimed, gleeful, “Maybe he’s your True Love!”

Alli slammed her bottle down on the counter, getting up from her stool. “I need some air,” she choked, tears burning behind her eyes again, ignoring Ruby as she called out for her. She barely heard Snow reprimanding Ruby softly. “Well done, Ruby. Her True Love died.”

She stumbled for  the front door, bursting through it , heaving deep breaths of the cold, night air. Her head was swimming, and she tried to keep from sobbing—she didn’t want to break again. She just wanted to be left alone.

She leaned against the wall, breathing in and out a few times, relaxing a little more.

Ruby didn’t know.

It wasn’t her fault.

She rested her head against the hard, cold, unforgiving brick wall, relishing in the relative silence out there for a moment, before raised voices caught her attention.

She turned to where the voices were coming from and bit her lip—the back alley.

Slowly, unsure whether or not she’d want to get involved, she walked towards the alley, her muscles tensing as she recognized the thrill that hung in the air.

Magic.

Powerful magic.

She turned the corner, her muscles clenching and freezing her into place as she took in the scene she just walked in on. 

.

.

.

**Killian**

He looked hesitantly as Emma took a step forward, unsure whether he should let her handle this on her own or intervene—he had no bloody clue how to respond to this new development; but that would not stop him from punching the living hell out of Bae as soon as he got him alone.

What a bloody fool he was.

Who could let Emma go?

He did not realize, at first, how enraged Emma was—which was his first mistake. Only when magic exploded out from her, knocking him off his feet and sending him flying back several feet, did he realize how lost she was, once again, in her emotional turmoil and the magic that drew its strength from those emotions.

He was pinned to the cold concrete by invisible iron bands, unable to move, hardly even able to breathe; the amount of pressure on his body was so big, he felt as though he were to implode at any given second, though he know it wouldn’t happen—he knew that, subconsciously, Emma was keeping him there on purpose; he was the only one there that could stop her; and she was trying to protect him too.

Pressed against the ground, he would be relatively safe from whatever her magic would make her do when she completely lost control. 

He really needed to get away from the bloody floor before she did something that she would regret. He struggled against the iron bands holding him to the ground, focusing all his attention and strength on loosening his restraints—magical or not, they were Emma’s restraints, so he’d be able to break through them.

He just knew it.

They were True Love—that had to create some sort of bond, did it not?

It tore him up, almost like a wild cat sinking its claws into his skin and tearing him apart from the inside—he wanted to get loose, wanted to stop her, but a part of him was screaming at him to let both the bloody Crocodile and his spawn have it—to let Emma tear them limb from limb.

And then suddenly, his breathing was restricted—it was as though he was carrying the weight of the Jolly upon his chest—and though he knew Emma would never allow him to be hurt, it was terrifying.

“Emma,” he choked, the weight seemingly pressing down harder upon his chest, “Emma, stop. Stop this.” He was not sure if his words reached her, but he wagered not, when the pressure only seemed to increase, rather than disappear.

Killian’s vision was blurring, black spots popping up across his vision whenever he blinked, as the pressure on his chest increased and the pain tore him up from the inside.

“Stop this, Emma!” He bellowed, resuming his endless and seemingly hopeless struggle against the bonds that held him, willing the pain to just disappear—what on earth had brought this on? Emma could not simply intend to hurt him; she just couldn’t.

Only she _was_ hurting him.

It increased once again—the pain was unbearable by now—and he couldn’t think of anything else. He wanted it to stop—he needed Emma to make this stop—she would, wouldn’t she?

She’d always made sure he was okay—she’d always cared. She was good at heart, and he loved her for it.

And then it hit—he just had to believe in her—he needed to believe that she was a good person. No matter what she had always said—seeing Bealfire, the man that had abandoned her, brought out some of her darkest, most hidden thoughts—thoughts of vengeance and blood thirst.

Now if there was ever anything he understood, it was a simple need for retribution. Emma forgot what she believed in. And he needed to remember, and make her remember it too.  

The second that thought hit his mind, everything fell away—and he was free.

There was no more pain, no more conflict, no more pressure.

He remained where he was for a few seconds longer, heaving deep breaths, attempting to catch his breath, his limbs still heavy and immobile, before he pushed himself to his knees and struggled back onto his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.

He was panting, and his vision was still blurred, but he needed to do this—his eyes widened as he realized she had her hand in Neal—Bae—whatever he wished to be called now’s chest, and he felt bile rise in the back of his throat as he stumbled forward, towards her as fast as he could.

He couldn’t let her sink down to the Crocodile’s level.

That was the only thought in his mind as he grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard—so she let go of Bae’s heart in a reflex—and whirled her around to face him.

Her eyes were once again covered with that white, milky layer—it still scared the bloody hell out of him—and she snarled, struggling against him as Bae and the Crocodile let out identical breaths of relief when he dragged her back, away from them.

He gazed at her again. How was he to snap her out of this?

The answer popped to his mind, so easy and so obvious, he felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier.

He loved her. She loved him.

They were True Loves.

Why not use that?

Nothing was supposed to be stronger than True Love, especially not theirs.

He forced himself to look into her eyes and think of all the reasons why he loved her. All the things he had ever felt for her.

“Emma, darling,” he whispered in her ear, leaning down, “I love you.”

And he kissed her.

Something washed over the pair of them as their lips touched—different than any of their other kisses. He didn’t know what it was, nor did he know where it came from, but it took hold of them as Emma’s magic faltered.

She seemed to regain control over her body and when he leaned away from her bloody addictive lips, the life seemed to return to her eyes. She swayed in his arms, her eyes still locked on his, and by the Gods, he couldn’t suppress the delighted smile that appeared on his lips.

“Welcome back, darling,” he whispered, temporarily oblivious to the pair of disgruntled and disheveled men that stood behind them. Emma blinked up at him, her eyes widening in horror as her memories slammed into her.

Tears welled up in her eyes and he winced as she dug her fingernails into his arm. “Oh my God,” she breathed, horrified, “What did I do?”

He tilted her head up, smiling at her, trying to convey what he believed—what he would always believe; she was so good, so sweet; she just lost herself for a moment. “You stopped, love. That’s what you did.”

“But I—” she choked, “I tried to kill him; I _wanted_ to.” Killian growled, throwing a glance to Bae, who cowered slightly under his gaze, and spat, “If you hadn’t, I would’ve. You’re only human, lass. You snapped, it happens.”

She whimpered and wrapped her arms around  him, using him to hold onto herself—to who she was.

“I love you, Emma,” he repeated, “and you are not a bad person—don’t let _anyone_ tell you that.” She nodded against his chest, and he felt warmth spread through him—warmth that was instantly quenched when a third, possibly even more unwanted guest joined their impromptu party.

“Well, I see why you like her now, Killian.”

He turned slowly, facing the woman that had single-handedly destroyed him in less than five minutes—he considered Penelope the only good thing he had ever gotten out of that relationship—snarling at her wordlessly, still not releasing Emma from his arms.

He was not letting go of her again.

He was keeping her grounded and she was keeping him grounded in return as they both faced the demons of their pasts—ironically, those demons made for one messed up family.

Milah cocked her head to the side and smirked evilly. “I didn’t want to do this—not like this, my sweet, sweet Killian.” He grimaced at her words—they brought back memories of the early days; the days before they found out they were having a child, before Milah betrayed him just like she betrayed Rumpelstiltskin; something he did not ponder upon too often.

He did not like being compared to that monster in any way, though he was aware that some of the things he had done in the name of revenge rivaled the Crocodile’s.

“He’s not yours,” Emma spat , pulling herself from his embrace—he winced at the cold air that hit him when her warmth left his arms—but entwining their fingers, keeping them connected, no matter what. “I  thought we both made that abundantly clear. He doesn’t want you—run along.”

Milah’s smile never left her face—and that’s when he realized something was wrong.

Something was so entirely and completely wrong.

The Crocodile—who seemed to have recovered from Emma’s attack—stepped up beside Milah, his gaze cold and unforgiving. “As I was saying, before we were rudely interrupted, I’m cashing in my favor—on my son’s behalf. Miss Swan is to give him another chance to win her heart; an honest chance.”

Killian glared at Bae, who was staring at Emma with some kind of sick, twisted, perverted kind of longing in his eyes, and he felt bile rise in the back of his throat at the thought of that coward—that maggot—touching _his_ Emma.

Emma seemed to agree with him whole-heartedly, and for that, he felt infinitely grateful—and just a little bit smug.

“Not going to happen,” Emma spat, her fingers tightening around his, “Even I would want to—which I do not—I can’t give him a chance to win my heart. I already found my True Love.” Killian’s heart felt just a little bit lighter a her words, and he smiled at Milah. “Same here. I do not wish to go anywhere near you, for one, and I found my True Love.” He smirked and winked at her. “It’s not you, Milah. So sorry.”

He expected her smile to falter, at least—to show some kind of dismay at his words; she never did well with rejection—but she merely shook her head with a smile. “Oh, we thought you two might be … Reluctant. So we have something else to …” She bit her lip coyly, “…Sweeten the deal, so to speak.”

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes boring into his, and though he refused to blink or look away, he felt slightly unnerved by the malicious glint in her eyes. “When we first spoke again, you asked me if I even thought about her. Penelope. _Our_ daughter.” Her eyes strayed to Emma when she spoke those words, almost as though she expected the blonde to whimper or wince, but Emma—to his greatest pleasure—just glared right back, not moving a muscle.

Milah returned her gaze to Killian and smiled again. “See, I did think about Penelope. A lot. And I know you are still looking for her.” Killian stomach seemed to turn over—he had an inkling where she was going with this, and if he were right, he was not going to like this.

“I know where she is,” Milah smirked, and Killian froze, even though he had expected to hear those words somewhat, “And I will take you to her. But only if you leave the tramp behind. You were always meant to be mine only, Killian. We have a child—we can go find her, and be together again, like we always should have been.”

“Meanwhile, Miss Swan,” the Crocodile grinned, “You and my son here can get re-acquainted—I’m sure some of the old spark remains. After all, you do have a child together too.”

“Are you insane?” Killian exclaimed, barely able to keep himself back—he wanted to kill them all with his bare hand, merely for making the suggestion.

“Oh, quite the contrary, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin smiled devilishly, “We’ve thought this through for quite some time. It’s a plan with many merits for us and you both. You get reunited with your precious daughter, pirate. Is that not what you have been fighting for all these years?” Before either Killian or Emma could form a proper response, he continued, the smile still lingering on his thin lips.

“It’s quite simple, really. You get a choice, like you did three hundred years ago. I do so hope you make the right one. The wrong choice might just cost your dear Penelope her life.” Killian froze, blanching as he processed the Crocodile’s words.

“She’s alive?” he croaked, unable to stop his voice from cracking midway through the sentence, wincing at how vulnerable he sounded. Emma squeezed his hand and took one step closer to him, and he relished in her strength, drawing his own strength from it—because if Penny was alive, he _would_ find her.

No matter what it took.

“Oh yes,” Milah smiled, “But that could change. If you don’t come with me, darling, she’ll draw her last breath within the same minute. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you now?” She smirked—and he saw the evil that lurked deep within her for the first time, cursing himself for not seeing it sooner—and eyed Emma up and down.

“Is she worth that? Is she worth your daughter’s life, Killian?”

He stared at her, his heart being torn to shreds over the choice—he loved Emma; desperately so, even, and he could not imagine not being with her anymore; but he loved Penelope too. She was his daughter, his only child—his life, for a long time, and he couldn’t let her die.

Milah was right, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew she died because he chose to stay with Emma—but then he would have to leave Emma, and he had sworn to her not to. He had sworn to be that one person that never left her, nor did he truly _want_ to leave her side.

He ached, and he looked up at Milah, desperate—willing to plead, to do anything—because he couldn’t be this torn apart; he wouldn’t survive losing either one of them; not Emma, nor Penelope.

“Milah,” he pleaded, “she’s your child too—would you kill her over petty jealousy?”

Milah shrugged. “It’s your choice, Killian. I didn’t want to do this, but you had to be difficult—you and your whore.” She glared at Emma—who had stayed remarkably silent, now that he thought about it—and shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t see how you think she’s worth sacrificing our daughter’s life for.”

“I’m not,” Emma suddenly said, her voice low and graveled, as though she had been crying. “I’m not worth Penelope’s life.” He turned to look at her, the ache in his chest doubling and intensifying as he saw the glint of the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Emma,” he breathed, shaking his head, realizing what she was doing, “No. Please, love, no.” She smiled weakly and nodded. “Yes. Go. I’m not worth losing Penelope—go find her.” When he continued to shake his head, unwilling to accept her words, she looked over his shoulder at the wicked trio that stood there, and said, “We’ll take your deal.”

“No!” He yelled, once again feeling the claws of True Love’s separation tear at his insides, “No. Emma, no, I’m not leaving you.”

She cupped his cheeks and pulled his lips down to hers, and he could taste the salty tang of her tears on her lips, mixing with his own. She pulled back slowly, her thumbs rubbing soft circles into his cheeks. “You need this,” she whispered, so low only they could hear, “You need the closure. You need to find Penelope. Maybe…” She sighed shakily, “Maybe I need closure too. I’ll wait for you. You go find your daughter, and you come back to me. To us,” she concluded, and he could see she was trying to be strong for him, and he hated it.

He didn’t want her to have to be strong for him—he didn’t want to have to leave her.

Slowly, determined to convince her that he _was_ coming back for her, he pulled the small ring he had been planning on giving her tonight from his pocket and showed it to her.

He relished in her small gasp and smiled through his own pained tears. “This ring belonged to my mother. And it’s supposed to represent a different kind of promise—” she chuckled lightly, “—and I promise that it will, one day. But for now, this is a promise that I _will_ come back for you. I will always find you, Emma Swan. I love you. More than life itself.”

She choked a sob and nodded, wrapping herself around him the very moment he slid that ring on her finger, promising both her and himself that he would fight to be able to come back to her one day, to make that ring represent a far more permanent promise.

“I love you,” she whispered, catching his lips in one last searing kiss, before he peeled himself from her embrace, knowing that if he didn’t stop now, he never would, breathing heavily, feeling Milah tugging on his hook.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his back on Emma and followed Milah, feeling her eyes burn into the back of his head—but for once, it didn’t make him feel smug or gleeful.

It just made him ache.

And he hoped that ache would always remind him to fight, so he could return to her—to Emma—to his heart.

.

.

.

**Emma**

She was really trying.

She was holding it together. Because sending Killian away—even though she knew it was the right thing to do—was tearing her apart from the inside out.  It hurt like nothing else had ever hurt before, like nothing ever would—it was like her very being protested against being separated from him.

Gold and Neal remained behind, watching Killian and Milah slowly being swallowed by the darkness, her heart stuttering when he disappeared from her view, as though it didn’t want to continue beating without him, her lips still tingling from where they had touched his.

The cold silver on her finger, the unfamiliar weight of the ring, was what gave her strength—strength to keep on standing, to keep breathing; because she promised him she would wait for him.

So she would.

She would never want another—because she belonged to him.

Completely and irrevocably.

“Well, dearies,” Gold exclaimed with a happy smile that made her want to pin him to the wall again and rip _his_ heart out, “Now that that’s done, it’s getting quite late, and I must get home. Bae, why don’t we agree to give Miss Swan some time to recover. Then you can begin dating.”

He didn’t even give her the time to respond, and before she registered his words completely, they, too, had disappeared, swallowed by the darkness, leaving her alone in the alley.

She hadn’t felt this alone in a while, and it overwhelmed her completely—she fell to her knees when the severity of the situation set in, and her legs were suddenly unable to support her anymore.

Killian had left.

He left.

He was gone.

She was alone—she was expected to date Neal again.

She didn’t realize she was crying again, at first, until someone kneeled before her and pulled her into a hug, whispering nonsense in her ear while rubbing her back.

She smelled roses and wild flowers, and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but that was achingly familiar, somehow.

Alli.

Alli was here.

“Ho—how much—” She managed to choke looking up at her friend, whose eyes were red and blotchy too. Alli shook her head. “I heard most of it. Emma, I’m so sorry. I’ll wait with you. Henry will too. And Elena, and Snow and Charming and everyone. We love you, Emma, both of you. All of us.”

She pulled her back into a hug—and Emma suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore.

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(Two days later, Granny’s Diner)_ **

She watched as Henry and Elena and Grace stood by the bar with Ruby, waiting for their drinks, leaving her and Alli alone for a moment.

Honestly, Emma had had no desire whatsoever to leave the apartment—nor had she, since she had practically forced Killian away from her; to find Penelope—but Alli had dragged her out, insisting it would help.

Emma supposed that if anyone would know what she felt like, it would be Alli—she’d spent years away from Graham before the curse, and had to live without him now, knowing he _couldn’t_ come back. She swallowed thickly.

At least Killian would come back for her.

He had to.

She glanced at the ring that adorned her left hand, the only physical item Killian had left her with—a promise that one day, he _would_ come back for her; a promise to make that ring a lot more than a mere promise ring.

She missed him.

More than she had ever thought possible—and she hated it.

It made her feel so _weak_ and _dependent_ , and she hated that he had that effect on her, because she didn’t want to be so dependent on _anyone_ —not even him.

But even that—her own innate stubbornness, refusing to completely break down—didn’t relieve the ache in her chest, where her heart had once been, before a sneaky pirate snuck in and stole it, never intending to give it back.

And she didn’t know how to keep going—she knew Killian could be gone for a long time, and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to keep fighting.

She was just so tired of fighting all the damn time.

She just wanted some peace and quiet.

She bit her lip and sighed—she had to stop thinking like that; she had to stop thinking about Killian every damn second of the day.

Things were not going to get any easier if she kept thinking about him, like some love-struck teenager. Henry was supposed to be the love-struck teenager in their lives, not her.

Shaking her head, she finally turned back to Alli, who was still watching their children with a faint smile on her lips. Without looking away from her daughter, Alli said, “She looks so much like Graham when she smiles... It hits me every time.”

Emma smiled sadly, following her friend’s gaze to where Elena and Grace were laughing at something Henry had said. She remembered how hard it had struck her when she had really seen the family resemblance between Elena and Graham for the first time—she couldn’t possibly imagine how hard it had to be for Alli.

“How do you do it?” The words fell from her lips before she even really realized what she’d asked. “How do keep going?”

To her credit, Alli never even blanched at the question. Instead, her gaze lingered on Elena for a long moment before she turned back to Emma, chewing on her lower lip lightly. “I don’t know. I just know that Graham would never have wanted me to give up—and I don’t want to either. I have Elena.” Alli swallowed and blinked rapidly a few times, and Emma could see tears shining in her eyes, “As long as I have Elena, I’ll be fine.”

Emma’s eyes strayed to Henry, contemplating what Alli meant—she understood; she loved Henry more than she loved anything else in the world; more than she loved Killian; and she would move heaven and earth to keep him safe—but she didn’t know what she would do if Henry would not need her anymore, someday.

She sighed. “Yeah.. I understand. I just—” she groaned softly and rested her forehead on one hand, “I miss him so much.” She bit her lip and looked up at Alli again, shaking her head, “And I know that sounds stupid, because I told him to go, but... I just want him back.”

Alli nodded, a sad smile tugging on her lips as she reached for Emma’s hand. “I know, honey. He’ll be back soon—I don’t doubt it. He is never going to be able to stay away from you for very long—,” Emma sniggered at the look on Alli’s face, “—I swear to the Gods, I have never seen a man who was more drawn to a woman than he is to you.”

Alli grimaced, “It’s so cute, it’s sickening at times.”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s disgusted expression, grinning too—she knew exactly what Alli was talking about, and she didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware of Killian’s inability to keep his hands—or his hand—to himself when she was within his reach; and she loved it, most of the time.

Alli rolled her eyes at her—Emma smirked right back—and pointed an accusing finger at her. “And you are just as bad. When is the honeymoon period gonna wear off on you two?”

Emma’s heart stuttered lightly, and she winced, glancing down at her ring once again. A wave of nausea and despair washed over her again as she remembered the look of longing and pain in Killian’s eyes when she told him  to go, her stomach twisting into uncomfortable knots.

She hated herself for telling him to go with Milah, but she knew he needed the closure, on both Milah and Penelope’s account, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want—or need—him back.

Suddenly, Alli’s hand was on hers again, and she looked up slowly, trying to blink away the hot tears that were burning in her eyes. “He’s going to come back, Emma,” Alli whispered, “And then you two can go back to being disgustingly cute together in the honeymoon period—for real this time.” She tapped her nail on Emma’s ring, smiling gently, and Emma couldn’t stop her own watery smile and nodded.

“I know. It just hurts.”

Alli winced sympathetically and nodded. “I know, Ems. But he’ll be back. I know he will.” Emma nodded, flashing a fake-smile at Ruby, who came to bring their orders, drawing Elena and Henry back to the table too.

Elena slid in next to Alli, diving into her food immediately—Emma grinned as a memory of Graham doing the same hit her, and then winced when she realized how it had to hurt Alli to see the resemblance too. She bit her lip and smiled at Henry when he told them all to enjoy their meal—he blushed a little when Elena flashed a huge, adorable smile at him—before poking at her salad, not really feeling up to eating—her stomach was still upset.

A flash of silver across the table caught her gaze and she frowned lightly, staring at the necklace on Elena’s neck, the pendant swinging back and forth as it fell from behind her shirt.

Her heartbeat slowed nearly to a stop, and she felt as though the whole world slowed down as she stared at the necklace, her eyes glued on the ring that dangled from it.

A silver signet ring, with a large rope-wrapped anchor.

She stared at Elena’s small face, taking in her bright blue eyes and long, dark, wavy curls, feeling dread fill her, as she turned to Alli, her eyes wide and unbelieving.

Her voice was faint and shaky as she exclaimed, “Where did she get that?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Killian**

He stared at Milah, imperviously convinced that she had lost her mind; that she had no bloody clue what she was talking about. “Neverland?” he raised an eyebrow. “Do you take me for a fool? I spent three centuries there, I would have known if my daughter was in Neverland!”

Milah tilted her head to the side and put her hand on his arm, rubbing her thumb over his skin—he didn’t pull away, though revulsion coursed through his veins, and he felt slightly nauseated at her touch—and smiled. “Oh, but Killian, love, Rumple didn’t want you to know. She was cloaked, hidden, her own memories erased.”

Killian gritted his teeth—he might not have Emma’s gift, but he knew when he was being lied to—and Milah was lying so much, he had to suppress the urge to slap her in the face; because he didn’t slap women, no matter how despicable a creature they were.

And as much as he wished to call her out on her lies, as much as he simply wanted to walk away and go back to Emma, he could not find it within his heart to risk Penelope’s life.

Because Milah hadn’t been lying about that.

If he hadn’t gone with her, she would have had their daughter killed instantly.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

“Very well,” he hissed, “how do you propose we get there? We do not have the Jolly, and I don’t particularly fancy jumping through another portal.” He rubbed his shoulder subconsciously. They had finally figured out how he had ended up so far from Emma and Snow.

Ironically, it had been Emma who held the final clue all along.

_._

_._

_._

_“But what does that mean?” Emma whined, leaning back against Killian’s chest, shivering as he played with her fingers absentmindedly, waiting patiently for the Blue Fairy to gather her thoughts. After all, as much as he detested magic, he was smart enough to know that when used for good, it was a powerful asset._

_And in this case, he definitely figured they might need it._

_“Relax, love,” he breathed against her neck, “Let the lass explain.” Emma grumbled a little, but gestured at the Blue Fairy and sighed, “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”_

_“Well,” the Fairy began, “From what I could gather, there hasn’t been another portal, except for the ones that brought you two and Snow back.” Killian nodded, though it still made no sense how Milah would have found her way to this world._

_To Storybrooke._

_And they needed to know—because if there was even the slightest possibility that she had brought Cora too, for some reason, they needed to be prepared. Killian had informed them of Cora’s unhealthy obsession with getting her daughter back, and everyone—including Regina—wanted to prevent that from happening._

_So they needed to know how Milah came to Storybrooke, and if she traveled through the Enchanted Forest._

_“Hang on,” Emma sat up, pulling away from his embrace a little, “Ones? As in, multiple?” Killian sat up straighter too, because that—that was something they needed to focus on. The Blue Fairy nodded. “Yes, multiple. I believe that is how you and your True Love got separated upon your return from the Enchanted Forest.”_

_Killian straightened, his hand resting upon the small of Emma’s back. “How do you mean?” The Blue Fairy sighed and shook her head. “It is not an exact science—magic has many forms and consequences; it works differently in this world. Any number of things might have caused a second portal to have opened—and though it led to the same location, it made you end up in different places.”_

_Killian frowned in confusion. “But there was only one bean; how could it have opened two portals?” Emma wrapped her fingers around his hook, tugging his arm onto her lap—he understood. He loathed the memory of those days too. “He’s right. We only had one bean,” Snow pegged in, drawing Killian’s attention to where she was sitting in the armchair, Charming standing protectively behind her._

_“Aye,” he agreed, “The Giant only had one bean—it was petrified; but it was the only one left.” He exchanged a glance with Emma, “There was no other way out of the forest, was there?”_

_Emma glanced at her mother, before shaking her head quickly. “No. Cora had the wardrobe ashes, but that was the only other way out. And we…” She hesitated and bit her lip, “… We didn’t get the ashes from her, did we?” Killian couldn’t fully hide how he winced at the reminder of Emma’s black-out before they jumped into the portal._

_He still blamed himself for not being able to keep Cora from taking her from him in the first place._

_Emma kissed his cheek, bringing him back to the present. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “No, we didn’t get the wardrobe ashes from her, lass. So,” he looked up at the Fairy, “how did two portals open?”_

_They were all silent for a moment—all contemplating that particular question._

_“Maybe it was me,” Emma finally whispered, breaking the tense silence that had fallen in the room. Killian felt Emma’s fingers tighten around his own, and he could sense her discomfort—and he shared it. Her magic was unpredictable, dangerous and it terrified them both._

_The Fairy shook her head, and both Charming and Snow were shaking their heads too; but Killian could see where Emma was coming from._

_She was the product of True Love._

_True Love was the most powerful magic of all._

_It was not beyond reason to assume that her burning desire to get back to her son had caused her to open a portal when she blew Cora away. She hadn’t been fully recovered from using magic when they had opened the portal and jumped through, and to be honest, they had all been in quite the hurry—it was possible that Emma had opened the portal accidentally._

_It made a lot more sense than any of the other crap the Charmings and the Fairy were spouting. “Hold your horses, mate,” he said, rolling his eyes when Charming tensed, “It makes sense. Emma was taken over by her magic right before we left—she desired to return to Henry more than anything,” he looked at Emma and smiled, “Nothing is more powerful than True Love, correct?”_

_He smirked as the Fairy nodded reluctantly and continued, “Perhaps, in her desperation, she opened the second portal without even realizing it.” Emma looked up at him, her eyes wide and—he loathed the sight of it—slightly fearful. “Is that even possible? I thought traveling between realms was only possible with beans or with Jefferson’s hat? Or the wardrobe, but we burned that thing.”_

_The Fairy nodded reluctantly. “In theory, Emma embodies True Love. Magic streams through her veins. It broadens the spectrum of possibilities, things she could achieve with her magic. I suppose it is possible.”_

_They all sat stupefied for a moment, Snow and Charming looking equally uncomfortable, and Emma—his beautiful, strong, gifted Emma—looking positively terrified._

_“Honestly, lass,” he finally broke the silence, “I always knew you were special. My beautiful Swan.”_

_._

_._

_._

Milah smirked at him and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Killian, you are still thinking so one-dimensionally. I have ways and means we never even dreamed of. The lands I spoke of—the things I could show you…” She sighed dreamily, and his heart squeezed in painful nostalgia before the evil glint in her eyes warned him off her again.

“Milah, I’m with you to find _my_ daughter. Not to see the lands you discovered while I threw away my life to avenge you,” he spat, “Never forget that.” Instead of looking put-out by his outburst, Milah merely smiled and shook her head.

“You’ll come around, darling,” she grinned, “Don’t ever forget that.”

He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat at that thought and glared at her. “Why, pray tell, must we return to Neverland? Who is it, that holds my daughter? I have met every islander there, and I know for certain they do not have her.”

Mila dangled a tiny, embroided pouch and moved to the edge of the pier, emptying its contents into the muddled, dark water. Killian watched—temporarily stunned—as a dark, swirling portal appeared, deep purple and green hues flashing in the deep blue water. 

She tilted her head and smiled at him. “The Jolly is waiting for us on the other side. Let’s go.” He eyed the portal warily, still reluctant to leave the world he fought to get to for twenty-eight years. To leave the world his True Love resided in. “Who has her?” He repeated, “I would have known if the islanders had her.”

Milah shakes her head, and he can see the playful amusement shining in her eyes. “I never said they were on the island, did I?”

And before he could respond or think it through, she jumped into the portal. Killian stared at where she had disappeared for a long, tense moment, thoughts running through his mind too fast for him to contemplate, before it hit him.

Not _on_ the island.

Bloody buggering fuck.

He looked back to Storybrooke once more, his heart aching when he turned away from the town—from Emma—and he jumped.

.

.

.

Time worked differently in Neverland.

It was a thought that frightened him, when he allowed himself to ponder upon it.

Last time he came here, three hundred years passed—almost in the blink of an eye. He had been quite … surprised to find how much time had flown by once he returned to the Enchanted Forest. He dreaded staying under Neverland’s beautiful, but lethal influence for too long this time.

Because this time, he was certain he had something to return to.

He held onto his love for Emma, because it was the only thing keeping him sane—Neverland was dangerous for adults; it tempted to take part in stupid, childish dreams; dreams that had kept one going during their darkest days.

Unfortunately for him, the dreams that had kept him going through his darkest days had been of Milah—the Milah he had thought he loved. The woman he had believed to be his True Love.

And though he now knew how foolish he had been, Neverland’s magic had a way of bringing those thoughts, those dreams, those memories back to him, making it sometimes hard to remember what he was fighting for.

His family.

Milah had been tirelessly trying to get him into her bed, somehow convinced that he would forget about Emma, and whenever they were in the same room, she would make sure she was touching him.

At first, it had simply annoyed him, but now…

Now, after nearly two weeks of the same, never-ending cycle—dreams of Emma, and Milah and Penelope, Milah’s efforts to get him back, the search for Atlantica, where mermaids resided—he began to feel weary, tired and worn out.

He did not know how long he could keep doing this.

The only light in this perpetual darkness was that he had been reunited with his beloved Jolly Roger. He had missed the ship, had missed the connection he had with her—she was his trusty mate; the only one that had been there with him for as long as he could remember.

Throughout all of his hardships, he had always found a home on the Jolly, and he had only left her with great reluctance.

He ran his hand over the smooth, polished wood at the helm, sighing in deep thought. He had fought with Milah earlier, and she had refused, once again, to tell him where Atlantica was, so that he could find their daughter—she had only told him that Ursula and her sister Morgana had made a deal with Rumpelstiltskin, to gain the power of the trident, and that he had them keep Penelope locked away in Atlantica in return.

He had met with the sea witches before; and the thought of them both possessing the trident that had the power to control the seven seas frightened him, to a certain extent—it did not bode well for any man who dared to call himself a pirate; the witches were cruel, and dark.

They valued no other life than their own, and if he were ever caught trying to free his daughter, they would not hesitate whatsoever to murder him—slowly and painfully, undoubtedly. He was certain Ursula and her sister, Morgana, would not hesitate in the slightest to torture everything he knew out of him.

He needed a plan.

Something that would allow him to enter Atlantica unseen—something that would allow him to breathe underwater.

He sighed heavily and wandered over the deck silently, deep in thought. He had dreamed of Emma again last night—and the fact that she had not been out of his reach, for once, had prompted him to get up in the morning—made him more determined to fight to get Penelope back; with or without Milah’s help—so he could return to Emma.

.

.

.

 _He was resting his head on Emma’s chest, enjoying the content feeling that filled him after holding her in his arms all night without interruption. Her fingers were playing with his hair, and he almost felt like purring_ — _he loved this feeling. Emma was wearing one of his button down shirts, completely unbuttoned, revealing her dark blue lace lingerie set that made him want to jump her all over again._

 _Her heartbeat thudded loudly against his ear, and he found himself smiling, wishing moments like these_ — _peaceful, easy moments—would last into eternity._

_“I love you,” he breathed, grinning when her skin erupted into goose bumps where his breath washed over it. Her fingers stilled in his hair and her heart skipped a beat—he loved it when it did that. “I love you too,” she muttered softly, resuming her gentle motion of stroking his hair._

_He closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her breast that wasn’t covered by dark blue lace._

_“Emma?” He muttered, drawing small circles on her stomach, trying to find a way to voice his thoughts._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered—he nearly hit himself over the head;_ way to start a serious conversation, you blithering idiot! _—tightening his grip on her hip slightly._

_She giggled. “I’m not going anywhere, Killian. You won’t lose me. Ever.”_

_He opened his mouth to speak the words he had been meaning to ask her for weeks—the words that were to change his life—when her stomach growled furiously, breaking the sweet, slightly romantic atmosphere he required for this conversation._

_Emma giggled when he let a growl of frustration escape from his lips and slithered down her body to press his lips to her belly._

_“Can you be quiet for just a little bit longer? I’m trying to have a serious conversation. I’ll feed you later.” Emma was downright laughing by now, her fingers still tangled in his dark locks.  
He bit back his nerves and laughed too, alleviating some of the tension that was residing in his body. He knew she could feel how tense he was in the rigidness of his muscles, but he just couldn’t relax. _

_He_ needed _her to answer this question. More even than he had needed her to answer anything._

_He snapped from his thoughts when Emma tugged at his hair lightly, pulling him up to her lips—a request to which he happily replied._

_He kissed her languidly, enjoying the way she readily responded to his advances, her fingers curling into his hair with one hand, while her other hand rested on his lower back, pulling his hard, muscled body against her soft, deliciously irresistible body._

_And God, did he love her. He’d do anything to keep her forever._

_He_ would _get to keep her forever. No one would take her from him—not even Milah. He had readily accepted that what he had had with Milah was ... an infatuation. It had not been love. Never had it been love._

_What he and Emma had though—that was love._

_And he would be a fool to let it go._

_So he pulled away from her lips, leaning up on his elbows, hovering over her, taking in every little detail of her beautiful face—the face he loved so._

_He took in the way her eyelashes framed the bright, forest green eyes that were staring up at him lovingly—the way her rose lips were slightly swollen from his insistent kisses—the way her golden, messy, sexy curls framed her face—the slight rosy blush on her cheeks—and the way her lips curved up into a smile; a smile that lit up his entire world._

_“I have a question for you,” he said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead tenderly, pecking the tip of her nose gently. She giggled and bit her lip. “It must be important. You have your serious face on.” He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that fought its way onto his lips._

_“It is. You ready?”_

_She laughed delightfully and nodded. “Yes, Killian. For God’s sake, whatever it is, just ask me.”_

_He took a deep breath—he couldn’t believe how nervous he was—and reached for her hand, tugging on the ring on her finger lightly until it slid from her finger, falling onto his palm._

_“I love you,” he began, “I love you more than I ever thought possible. I don’t want to lose you, or let you go. Never. I know I told you that I’d always love her—and I was wrong. I don’t love her. I never did. But I love you, and I want to tell you that every single day, for the rest of our lives. I want you forever—I told you, when I gave you this,” he wiggled the ring between his fingers, “That one day, it would symbolize a different kind of promise—and it will.” He took a shaky breath. “So marry me, Emma.”_

_She gasped, blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes during his little speech, and stared at the beautiful ring that he was holding up—the ring she had worn every day since he gave it to her._

_“Killian,” she breathed, “For real?”_

_He chuckled lightly and nodded. “Yes, love. For real. Forever.”_

_She bit her lip and stared at the ring—his heart started beating faster and faster—and whispered, “Fairytale forever?”_

_He smiled sadly. “Whichever you’re willing to give me.”_

_He prepared for rejection—it was soon, after all. They’d only been together for a few months, and he had spent half of that time in Neverland, with Milah, looking for Penelope._

_And then, she kissed him._

_For a split-second, he was frozen, not fully comprehending what she was doing, and then his lips were on hers, his fingers curling themselves in her hair, pulling her closer, inexplicably needing her to be closer to him._

_She pulled away from him though, kissing his cheek tenderly. “Can I try on my ring?”_

_He grinned. “You most certainly can.” Slowly, and very carefully, he lifted her hand and slid the ring onto her finger._

_“So...” he began, his nerves playing up, “You. Me. Forever. Sound good, love?”_

_“Yes,” she breathed, “Yes, yes, yes. I’ll marry you, I’ll give you forever. Whichever you want.”_

_His fingers fisted in her hair as he kissed her passionately, pouring every ounce of love he possessed for her in the kiss. For the first time, he was sure she’d always be his._

_He loved her and she loved him. They were meant to be—he was certain of it._

.

.

.

He desperately wanted to make that vision reality—and he needed to return to Storybrooke to do that.

He leaned over the banister of the Jolly, staring into the deep blue waters of Neverland’s sea, somehow hoping it would provide him with the kind of answers he needed; the answers he craved. Slowly, he tried to summarize all that he knew about the witches.

They were sisters—though he sincerely doubted whether he could use that against them—and they both possessed strong, natural magical powers; powers that ran as deep as those of the Dark One did; the only difference being that the witches had been born into their powers, whereas the Dark One had killed to gain his.

The trident in their possession was one of the most powerful magical objects in all the realms, and in the hands of his foe, it should be feared—avoided even.

He groaned and shook his head; he knew too little. He could not plan anything like this—he could not simply barge into Atlantica without any sort of information whatsoever. He needed more answers; who the witches were, what kind of powers they wielded, where they were holding Penelope—he needed something; someone; that would help him.

Clearly, Milah was not going to unless he slept with her.

Which was not going to happen—never again.

He moved across the deck of the Jolly slowly, deep in thought, never once worried about falling over stray ropes—his Jolly would never allow her captain to be harmed on her deck.   
He was so lost in his thoughts, so lost in trying to hold onto the memory of Emma’s smile, he did not hear the faint breeze that suddenly washed over the Jolly Roger, making her sails flap lightly, nor did he see the faint, small figure that appeared a few feet above deck, looking down upon him with an unreadable expression.

He didn’t feel the faint stirrings of magic in the air.

He didn’t hear anything before he was suddenly covered in golden dust, and his eyes flew up to meet hers, widening in surprise—and then he could no longer move.

“Tink,” he choked, before his jaw snapped shut, magically glued shut as a haze washed over him, his eyes rolling back in his head—and he didn’t see or hear anymore.

The small fairy smiled as she looked down upon his limp body, a fond expression coloring her expression for a moment. “Hello Killian,” she whispered, before snapping her fingers.

With a small pop, they both disappeared, leaving the deck of the Jolly Rodger cold and abandoned.

.

.

.

He woke up surprisingly gently, in a bed he was more than familiar with—he had spent many a night in here over the past three centuries.

The last time he had been here though, it had not been a happy occasion.

He clearly remembered leaving a highly emotional and upset fairy behind—and even though it had cost him dearly, he had regretted having to leave Tink behind when he left to exact his revenge on Rumpelstiltskin.

He had not loved her.

No—not loved. But he had cared deeply for her. Deeper than he had cared for anyone in a long, long time. He blinked lazily at the leaf ceiling above him, vaguely wondering if Tink had brought him here to hurt him for leaving her—he _had_ promised to take her away with him when they first met.

And he hadn’t.

“Ugh,” her soft, utterly feminine voice broke him from his thoughts, “Are you still not up? I did not give you that much dust!” Killian managed to roll his head to the side, smiling lightly at the sight of Tink standing before him—her long, golden curls cascaded down her back, the light catching in her locks, making it shimmer in the dim light of her house. She wore the same green little dress she always wore, with both hands set upon her hips, her foot tapping on the floor impatiently and her bottom lip protruding in an adorable little pout.

“You’re ruining all my fun,” she cried, stomping her foot on the floor before striding over to the bed and poking his side rather harshly—he winced; or he would have, had he not still been mostly paralyzed by that bloody fairy dust.

“Okay,” she pouted, “Fine. I suppose this works too, because I need you to listen, and at least you won’t interrupt me every five seconds with one of you bloody stupid comments now.” Killian would have rolled his eyes, if he could’ve.

It appeared Tink’s sudden mood swings hadn’t improved over the years.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” she squealed now—drawing his attention back to the blonde little fury, clapping her hands excitedly, “I thought you were never going to come back for me, but you did and you’re so much better now! You aren’t all dark and evil anymore—though I never really did think you were,” she rambled, frowning a little, “I suppose that’s all Milah’s doing, and I know you love her, but I really don’t get it, she seems like such a—a—” she choked a little, and the corners of his lips lifted into a small smile, because some things really never did change.

She still  didn’t like swearing or calling names, and when she did, she usually settled on calling someone a flower she didn’t think was as pretty as the other flowers in Neverland’s vast jungle.

“Besides, you still need to tell me how you got her back, because you told me she was dead and I gave you a year’s supply of my fairy dust so you could avenge her, and I know you couldn’t have used it to bring her back to life, because nothing can bring back the dead, but if she’s the reason your light is so bright again, I’ll love her, I promise!” She was positively beaming now, hopping up and down excitedly.

Killian decided that he had heard enough—honestly, having Tink assume he loved Milah was one thing; she didn’t know better, last time she had seen him, he _had_ loved Milah; but having her say that she would accept the woman was too much.

He cared for Tink—she was sweet and pure and innocent in many ways, but the absolute opposite in many other ways. He had loved that, once upon a time.

He had adored that she kept him on his toes—and though he had always regretted, to a certain point, that he could not love her as she wished him to, he was grateful for it now; it had kept his heart safe; unblemished for Emma—for what he had shared with Milah had clearly not been love.

Not for her, anyway.

“That’s quite enough, lass,” he grumbled, feeling the last bit of the fairy dust wear off, “Milah was never dead. The wench tricked us all. I do not love her.” He sat up slowly, shaking his head to rid himself of the remnants of being paralyzed, running his fingers through his hair.

Tink gasped, her nose wrinkling adorably when she frowned. “Wait, you don’t love her? But then— _someone_ has given you back your light, so who is she? Where is she? Why would you go with Milah if you don’t like her anymore?”

Killian swallowed—Penelope had always been a sensitive subject with Tink; and he had never been quite certain _why_. Slowly, his mood weighing heavier on his troubled mind with every breath he took, he silently braced himself for the confrontation that was about to take place.

Though he knew tonight—the night of their reunion—was not the best night to talk to Tink about subjects such as these—he was feeling emotionally spent as it was after his fight with Milah—it had to be done.

Tink was one of the only people that could help him—she was a valuable ally, and a bloody good friend.  “She knows where Penelope is,” he finally responded, not looking up at the blonde before him. “I finally have the chance to find her—I need to take it.”

He felt the bed beside him dip, and lifted his head slightly to look at her—something in her eyes had changed.  The coldness that had always been there when he talked about Penelope seemed to have dissipated—and he could not help but wonder how long that would last.

“Are you feeling alright?” he joked weakly, standing up to stretch his stiff legs, before crossing his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at her. “You have never been this quiet before—in fact, I believe this is the very first time you do not dismiss my efforts to find my daughter.”

She smiled weakly. “I understand now.”

His smile faltered.

Dear Gods. She—she’d lost a child?

“You lost a child?” He asked, walking towards her once again, absolutely horrified at the mere thought that his sweet, innocent pixie had gone through such a tragedy. She laughed sadly. “I have. Shortly after you abandoned Neverland—it was not yours, of course. But I miss it nonetheless. I understand your desperation better now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you came for me, when you sensed me? You wanted to tell me—wanted to tell one who understood the pain.”

“I needed to be certain you were not here to take out your anger on Neverland once again. I could not allow you to reside here if you were still the cold-hearted bastard you were when you left.” He paled a little at her words, and as much as he had once wanted her to feel an inkling of the pain he went through—to understand what it had felt like to lose his entire life in one swoop—, he felt quite bad for her.

Losing a child was not something he would wish upon anyone.

He was no innocent in their situation, and he knew it—he _had_ terrorized Neverland when he first came here. He contemplated what to say, but the bitterness he had been suppressing surfaced, and he found himself unable to control his tongue.

“Oh lass,” he snarled, “you were all too willing to bed the cold-hearted bastard, if I remember correctly.”

She jumped to her feet and approached him, her blue eyes flashing dangerously, her magic crackling in the air. He eyed her nervously—she was powerful, and he had just angered her.

Not his smartest move ever.

“Do you really want to rehash the reason _why_ I bedded you, Pirate? Because we both know I was not the one who came begging,” she continued, anger flashing her eyes. He would reply cockily, tell her she had never been more than a body to warm his, blame her for everything that had gone wrong in his three hundred years here—that’s what he could do.

What he _would_ do, had it been anyone else, but her.

He shook his head and took a step back, holding up his hands in defeat. “I don’t want to fight about this, lass. I made bad decisions back then, as did you—but I never would’ve wished that fate upon you. Not upon anyone.”

She seemed to examine him for a moment, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. “What are you up to?” She finally whispered, and he could sense her confusion.

“Why would I be up to anything?” he replied in the same hushed tone.

He nearly lost it when she bit her lip to bite back the smirk that was fighting its way up to her lips. “You’re always up to something. Especially when you’re nice.”

He grinned. “You know me so well.”

She returned his smile with ease, and for a moment, they were just Killian and Tink—best friends, old lovers, teasing each other equally, as they always had. But, as expected, their moment passed, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence—a silence Killian hated more than anything else.

He’d do anything to just overcome the huge abyss that was between them.

He _missed_ her. He missed their easy, casual banter—he missed their friendship.

“I need your help,” he finally responded, “I need an amulet that will allow me to breathe underwater. I know you had it—do you still have it?”

“Maybe,” she smiled coyly, “What would you give me for it?”

Killian missed the innuendo in the question—though when he looked back upon the moment later, he had no clue _how_ he had missed that—and shrugged. “What do you want for it, lass?” Silence fell between them as she looked into his eyes, considering her request. He eyed her carefully, feeling slightly conflicted—he did not like trading for things such as these.

It usually indebted him, and he loathed to be indebted with anyone, even Tink.  

He missed how she suddenly leaned closer to him, her desire for him overtaking her rational thoughts at that moment. Without thinking, Tink lifted her hand to his cheek, caressing the surprisingly soft skin beneath his scruff. Slowly, she leaned in—but Killian stopped her when her lips were only a hair’s breadth from his.

“Tink,” he said softly, “I cannot. I have someone—my True Love. And I will return to her once I find Penelope.” He raises his hand to hers, pulling it from his cheek. “I will not be unfaithful to her. I love her. She brought me back to life.”

He thought he saw hurt flicker through her eyes, but it had gone so swiftly, he questioned its existence in the first place.

Perhaps he truly had imagined it.

“Why do you need the amulet?” She asked, her voice suddenly level and void of any emotion—and he would have worried about her, had he not been this close to gaining the one object that would help him get his daughter back.

He explained his predicament to her—he left out no details; Tink would not help him if she caught so much as a whiff of a lie, especially after he rejected her—and pleaded with her to aid him on his quest. As a pixie, she had never been able to aid him with Rumpelstiltskin—but saving his daughter from the clutches of the evil witches was a noble cause indeed.

Finally, he took a deep breath, looking at Tink hopefully. “So, can you help me, lass? Can you help me breathe underwater and get into the castle?”

A smile flickered across Tink’s lips and she nodded. “I can do you one better. I can show you where she is.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Killian**

He stared at Tink, unsure whether or not she meant that—because if she could show him; wouldn’t she have done so a lot sooner? “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously—magical favors such as these usually came at very high prices, and he was not certain he would be willing to pay the price on this one.

Not even for Penelope.

Tink smiled and got up, crossing the room and waving her hand lightly, as though she were trying to dismiss his questions—but then the air before him glimmered and shifted, and suddenly, there was a dark wooden cabinet that had not been there before.

Its glass doors were richly decorated with golden figures that curled and tumbled over the wooden and glass panels—and inside, he could see faint shimmering. Something glowed silver in there, the glow weakening and strengthening, almost pulsing.

He could feel the magic in the air, and it took his breath away.

“What is this, Tink?” He demanded, clenching his hand into a tight fist to keep his temper in check. He knew it would do little good to get mad at Tink for not telling him everything right away—she always did prefer her little secrets, and it was something he simply had to deal with.

Tink waved her hand once again, and the doors sprung open—he jumped back a little—and a large, silver basin floated from the cabinet. It’s beauty—though it was simple and not decorated at all—took his breath away almost as swiftly as the amount of magic in the air did; he swallowed thickly.

His breath caught in his throat when a shimmer of water splashed over the edge of the basin.  “Is that—” he choked, because he could not comprehend how Tink would’ve gotten her hands on _this_. “Tinkerbel,” he growled when she giggled, “Is this what I think it is?”

Her melodious laughter echoed through the house as she hopped around the room excitedly, nodding her head. “It is,” she smiled, “It resurfaced shortly after the witches got the trident, so you should be very grateful that I found it before they did.”

“It’s been lost for centuries,” he whispered, feeling awfully humbled to stand in the same room with one of the most powerful magical objects ever made—even the trident’s magic was not considered as volatile and dangerous as the Mirror’s.

Tink stepped up to the basin, her features eerily illuminated by the faint, pulsing glow from the water. “Galadriel’s Mirror,” she whispered, waving her hand over the water, making it ripple slightly. “Past, Present and Future,” she smiles. “I discovered a few of its other tricks—a one-way looking glass being one of them.”

Understanding washed over Killian, though a healthy respect for the Mirror’s power remained. He was unsure what he wanted to do—knowing where Penelope was exactly, in the palace, would certainly help him rescue her from the witches’ clutches.

But he knew the legends—he had grown up with them.

The Mirror only showed what It wished to show.

Tink smiled at the hesitant look on his face and held out her hand. “Come,” she spoke softly, “The Mirror will show you what you are looking for if your intentions are pure—I don’t believe there is a purer motive than wanting to find your daughter.”

Killian was still hesitant—but he trusted Tink; so he took her hand, allowing her to lead him closer to the Mirror. “Think of her,” she whispered as the water began to ripple violently, “Only of Penelope—think of how you want to save her, think of how you want to find her, bring her home with you after all these years—think of where she is; allow the Mirror to show you where she is.”

Her voice seemed to grow fainter the longer he stared into the mirror, the deep, intense black, swirling water seemingly drawing him in deeper and deeper until it was all he could see.

He was falling.

Falling without any hope of ever landing.

All he could feel and see was warm, intense black darkness, and he wanted to panic, but he didn’t—he silently kept willing himself to repeat the words Tink had spoken.

Think of Penelope.

Only of Penelope—of how he wanted to find her, how he wanted to bring her home.

How he wanted to be a family once again.

As soon as he finished that thought, there was suddenly light—everywhere. It was so sudden, it blinded him for a long moment. He squeezed his eyes shut, his eyes tearing up at the intensity of the sudden light, unsure of what had happened.

When he opened his eyes, he choked for a moment, convinced something had gone wrong—because he knew this place; all too well.

He desired to return here more than anything.

But Penelope couldn’t be here. Could she?

He stared at the familiar clock tower, his eyes watering.

Storybrooke.

It didn’t make sense.

Penelope was being held in Neverland, by the Sea Witches. Why would the Mirror show him Storybrooke if he knew she wasn’t there?

He closed his eyes once again, intent on willing the Mirror to show him where Penelope was—when he was suddenly torn from his thoughts by laughter.

Very familiar laughter.

His eyes snapped open, and he choked as he caught sight of Henry and Elena skipping down the street, their delighted laughter making him smile despite the burning ache of longing in his chest—they both looked so happy.

Behind the two children, two other figures appeared, as he had suspected they would, but that did not prevent the pang of longing—so strong that his knees buckled beneath him—that shot through him at the sight of Emma.

She was smiling, and though he could see it did not reach her eyes completely, it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time. “Gods,” he breathed, “Emma…”

He wished he could find the strength to get up, to touch her, to see if he could talk to her—even though he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t—but all he could do was stare.

As he sat there, wallowing in his self-pity—it wasn’t like he had emotional break-downs over missing Emma all that often—he caught a snippet of the conversation between her and Alli, and though he knew Emma would skin him if he ever told her, he found himself _too_ curious to find out what made her tick these days—he wanted, nay, he _needed_ to know she was okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that awkward before,” Alli laughed, “Even Ruby didn’t know what to say anymore. Damn Neal—trying to kiss you in the middle of Granny’s… What was he thinking?”

He winced. He did _not_ want to know how her date with Neal—Baelfire—had gone. Even if he deserved no more than to hear and to suffer over the thought over another man going out with his Swan—he _had_ left, after all, broken his promise to Emma—it hurt like hell—and it was the kind of pain his Captain Hook mask wouldn’t take away.

He could see her rolling her eyes as she replied, “He’s always been stupid enough to try things like that—I don’t understand what part of True Love he doesn’t understand—it’s not like I can just fall out of love with Killian, even if I’d wanted to—which I don’t.”

That exclamation made him smile—though it did not help ease his longing.

This—seeing her, hearing her—hurt more than he wanted to admit.

By the time he had torn himself from his thoughts, the women had moved on, and are now too far for him to eavesdrop anymore.

And that—the distance he suddenly found between himself and Emma—was too much to bear.

He needed more.

He needed more time with her.

He stumbled back to his feet, running after them, reaching them just as they reached the playground behind the library. He watched as Henry and Elena ran to talk to the Hatter’s little lass as Emma and Alli settled on one of the benches.

He kneeled before Emma, wishing desperately he could touch her, kiss away the sadness that lingered in her eyes as she stared ahead, silence between her and Alli for a moment.

He drank in her features, his eyes lingering long on her full, rose lips—oh, how he desired to kiss those lips again.

If only he could return to Storybrooke right now.

“What do you think we should do about this?” Alli’s soft voice drew his attention to her, and his eyes widened substantially when he saw what she was holding—for a moment, he forgot he couldn’t touch them, or that they couldn’t see him—he lunged for her, trying to snatch the necklace that dangled from her fingers from her.

Penelope’s ring.

How did she get the ring?

He choked, his eyes watering in frustration and anger as he watched Emma taking the necklace helplessly, a watery smile appearing on her lips. “I don’t know,” she whispered, “I don’t know—I don’t know what it means… And as long as we don’t know how Elena got it…” She sighed, and she bit her lip, and Killian’s entire being screamed at him to wrap his arms around her, to hold her so everything would be alright.

“I just wish Killian was here,” she whispered, “I just wish I could tell him Milah is lying.”

It took a few seconds for the words to hit, and by the time they did, the world around him was fading once again. “No,” he cried, trying to stay, trying to hold onto Emma—because he needed more, he needed more time with Emma before he had to go back to his own personal hell.

“No! I’m not done yet!” He screamed, “Please! Please, give me more time!” His heart felt like it was being torn from his body, inch by bloody inch, slowly and painfully. He was crying—and for once, he didn’t care.

He just wanted to stay—all he wanted was to stay with Emma.

“Please,” he begged, “Please, I need her—Emma… Let me stay.” But to no avail—the world turned darker and darker, as was more than appropriate, he mused. Emma was the light of his existence, and now that he was being forcefully torn from her once again, it felt as though all that was left of him was that dark, evil part of him that he had managed to expel when he met Emma.

The only thing he heard, before complete darkness swallowed him in whole, were Emma’s final words.

_Milah is lying._

Suddenly, the world around him came back into focus and he stumbled back, gasping for breath as though he had not taken a breath in years. His back slammed into the wall of Tink’s small house as he fought to catch his breath, to make sense of the voices screaming at him in his head—to make sense of everything he had learned. 

_Milah is lying._

He vaguely saw Tink’s concerned features, and he realized he had to talk to her—but he could not.

Emma had Penelope’s ring.

Why did Emma have Penelope’s ring?

How did she?

_Milah is lying._

“Killian,” Tink cried, her hands suddenly hot on his cheeks, “Killian, what did you see? Where is she?” He looked up at her, wincing—because he could not find words to say what he had seen.

He could not describe the pure, undiluted pain that streamed through his veins upon knowing that Emma was waiting for him, and that she loved him still, despite how he had feared—even though he knew it was ridiculous—that she would somehow fall under Baelfire’s spell once again.

_Milah is lying._

Killian choked, only one thought finally making sense—he needed to go home.

He needed to get back to Storybrooke.

“She’s not here,” he finally whispers, his voice more broken and agonized than he had ever heard it before, “She lied. Milah lied—she simply wanted me to fall into her arms again.” Anger surged through his veins, and his vision swam with crimson, tinged with rage he had not experienced in many a year—nothing had ever enraged him as much as this betrayal had.

Milah had gone too far.

He had only one advantage—she did not know he was aware of her latest betrayal. She still thought he was a simple, easy-to-fool, desperate-for-affection pirate.

He wasn’t.

Not anymore.

She had destroyed that part of him when she had abandoned him and their daughter.

She’d regret this.

He’d make sure of that.

It was time to introduce Milah to the monster she had created—time for him to allow Captain Hook to make an appearance.

.

.

.

Killian was silently fuming, glaring at Milah’s still form on the bed in _his_ cabin.

He was still attempting to decide how to go at this—he wasn’t sure how far gone Milah was. He hadn’t even noticed how psychotic she had become, apparently—and he was kicking himself for it over and over again.

Penelope could have been trapped in a cage for the past three centuries for all he knew because he didn’t see how selfish and dangerous she was back then.  

He suppressed a growl and leaned back against the wall, desperately trying to find some kind of inner strength; a connection to the monster he knew he could be—he couldn’t get through this as Killian Jones; he was certain of it.

No matter what, Milah was still his first love—that desperate, unhappy, sweet woman that had come to him, begging him to take her away, to show her the world he had spoken of… The mother of his daughter—so many memories; so much hurt, so much comfort…

No matter how much he might want to hate Milah with every fiber of his being—for what she did to Emma; to him; to _Penelope_ —he just couldn’t do it. But he needed to hate her to get through this; he needed to hate Milah to get the answers he needed; he knew her well, and he knew she was ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

Whatever Milah and the crocodile had done to Penelope needed to be brought to light—and he wanted to be the one to do it; because if he couldn’t…

Penelope would be the one that paid for it, and he could not live with himself if that were to happen.

He wasn’t even sure he’d deserve to.

Milah murmured something unintelligible and shifted, but did not wake up—and for that, Killian was grateful. He didn’t know how to do this—he wanted to get his daughter back desperately, and he wanted to return to Storybrooke, to Emma, even more, but he was not sure if he could look Milah in the eye and torture her to make her tell him where Penelope was.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of soft, light footsteps on the wooden floorboards. He turned and smiled wryly at Tink, who was now leaning against the wall, studying him closely. “Are you going to do it?” She asked, her eyes never once leaving his.

He once again cursed how well she was able to read him and sighed.  He shot Milah one last glance before turning his attention fully to Tink, approaching her until he was right in front of her, mirroring her stance.

He sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. What did Titania say about the Mirror?” They had agreed his trip into the Mirror’s vision had not been normal, and Tink had decided to reveal the Mirror to her Queen, hoping that she could provide them with answers.

Tink bit her lip. “She does not know why you were absorbed—but she assumes it is due to your strong connection with your True Love.” She smirked, “Perhaps she was in your thoughts more than Penelope—it would explain why you saw her, not Penelope.”

He nodded slowly, fighting the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach—what if he had been wrong? It was possible that the vision was not entirely correct.

That it had been influenced by his own selfish desires.

He knew Tink was following the same train of thoughts, and found himself wincing at the thought of having to torture Milah—he did not love her, not even a little, but he did not want to hurt her—he loved the woman that had given him a daughter; the woman he had fallen in love with.

Not whoever this woman was.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” She whispered, reaching forward to squeeze his arm gently. He sighed and nodded, trying not to think of what he’d have to do—he loathed how weak his emotions made him; another reason why shutting down completely sounded more and more appealing with every second.

“Aye,” he breathed in response to Tink’s question, “I don’t like it, but I know.”

Tink was completely silent for a moment before she spoke softly, her words echoing what Killian had been thinking all along. “If you… If you think you can’t do it, I will. I have no emotional attachment to her—I could do this, Killian.”

He was afraid to look her in the eye—which made him want to kick his own ass, because he was Killian bloody Jones; Captain freaking Hook—he didn’t do afraid—and chose to look at her hand that rested on his arm lightly, intrigued by how pale her skin seemed in contrast to his dark shirt, and how her skin seemed to illuminate in the dark shadows of his cabin.

And then his attention was suddenly—abruptly and violently—draw to the third finger on her left hand; the hand that rested upon his arm—his eyes growing wider in absolute astonishment.

That couldn’t be—no.. It couldn’t.

Slowly, semi-scared it might disappear if he moved to fast, he reached for her hand, fully aware of the intense silence between them. He touched the ring gingerly, still half-expecting it to disappear, before looking up at Tink—whose eyes were large and infused with so much emotion he nearly fell over with the intensity of the whole thing.

“Tink,” he rasped, “Is that—” Tink yanked her hand back and rolled her eyes—the emotion had long dissipated from her eyes and all that remained was cold indifference. “What if it is? It’s a pretty ring, Killian. I like pretty valuables such as these—you know that. It’s a meaningless trinket, nothing else.”

He winced at her cruel words, but recognized them for what they were; a defense mechanism against feeling too much—she had told him she wanted to feel as little as possible, because she couldn’t handle it; not around him.

He understood; he had felt that way for a long time after Milah, and after he had made the decision to leave Tink in Neverland.

He had given her the ring when he had believed that perhaps, one day, he could feel more for her. He had been wrong, and he knew that now—but he had given her hope, and that was not fair.

“Okay,” he drawled, holding up his hands in defeat, “No reason to bite my head off; I was just wondering.” She glared at him for one more moment before her stance dropped and a sigh fell from her lips. “I am sorry. This is not easy—what should we do about her? What do you want to do about her?”

She glanced towards the bed, where Milah lay, her eyes darkening just a little bit.

Killian ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “I want her to pay—she abandoned me and our daughter. She attempted to separate me permanently from my True Love—I want her out of my life for good. No matter what it takes.”

Tink frowned and bit her lip—he recognized that look; she had an idea. “I can make that happen,” she said slowly, her voice shaky and soft—but determined. He swallowed thickly, running his fingers through his hair. “How?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression grave and serious—he hated that expression on her; it always meant she was going to say something he wouldn’t like.

“I can give her to Titania. She would see to it that she is punished for her misdeeds, and that she is either executed or locked up in one of our cells for the rest of her life,” she started slowly, “she would be shown the severity of her actions.”

Killian winced—because he knew how the pixies punished their prisoners and those who had wronged them. “I will think about it,” he replies slowly, “I must think about sentencing her to—” He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I need to hear it for myself first.”

Tink nodded slowly, sending him a sympathetic smile. “I will be back in an hour. I must tell my Queen—ask her how she wishes to proceed. If we are to imprison Milah, preparations must be made and precautions must be taken.”

Killian nodded slowly, feeling oddly numb, staring at where Milah was laying.

He should talk to her, and he knew that, he knew they should talk—but he also knew he couldn’t forgive her. Perhaps he could forgive her for leaving him. He had never wanted her to be unhappy, and if she had told him that she was unhappy, he would have let her go.

But he could not forgive her for abandoning their daughter—for leaving them in the Dark One’s claws, without any sort of regard for their lives.

He didn’t want to forgive her for the part she had played in losing his hand and Penelope.

But if she hadn’t, he would not have lived long enough to meet Emma, and he would have missed out on his True Love.

“Hello there,” he was shaken from his thoughts by her voice, and looked back at the bed, where Milah was now reclining, stretched out across his dark sheets.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t want to.

He simply stared.

She stretched languorously, the long, cotton shirt she was wearing riding up over her thighs, revealing her pale, naked skin. He could see she was trying to tempt him, trying to seduce him—and for the first time, he didn’t feel anything.

No stirrings of past feelings, no memories of happy times.

Nothing at all.

“Killian, what’s on your mind, darling?” Milah had gotten to her feet now, approaching him slowly, almost predatory.

He glared at her, his hand curling into a fist. “You lied,” he hissed, “You know Penelope isn’t in Neverland.”

He swore he saw her falter for a split-second, her eyes going wide and her jaw going slack before she regained her composure, mask back in place. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she stated, “I told you the sea-witches have her. They reside in Neverland, the last time I checked.”

She spoke so lightly over something so important that he just snapped.

He moved over to her faster than he ever knew he could and pinned her against the wall, his hook pressing hard on her neck, ready to tear out her throat if he had to. “Why are we really here?” He growled, knowing she knew he would kill her if he had to.

“Damn it, Killian,” she growled, “Because I can’t just stand by and watch as you gallivant around, playing house with my son’s woman—she is meant to be his as you are meant to be mine.” Her eyes were wide and desperate now, and he was repulsed by what he saw in them. “I love you,” she smiled weakly, “You need to see that. We can be a family again. You just need to forget about the stupid little blonde and about Penelope—it’s too late for all that. It’s no use, looking back at the past. It’s done.”

Dumbfounded, he took a step back, letting her slide away from the wall.

He was stunned into speechlessness. “You think I can simply forget? Do you honestly believe I can simply forget everything you have put me through? That I could forgive you for leaving our daughter in Rumpelstilskin’s hands?” He whispered, the thought hurting him far more than he had expected—it slashed into him, leaving a far deeper scar than her former betrayal had.

How could their daughter mean so little to her?

Somewhere, deep in his chest, he was aching—an uncomfortable, burning ache that grew more intense with the passing seconds, seemingly burning its way through his chest, until he felt like every pump of his heart sent fire through his veins, and every breath he took set his lungs on fire.

He heard something that distantly sounded like someone calling his name, but he couldn’t focus on anything but how much it hurt—it felt as though he was being ripped apart.

He was on fire, and his body was being bloody torn apart limb from limb.

And then, suddenly, it was all over, and he was enveloped by blinding white light, before he landed, hard, on the hard, cold ground, the sound of the ocean rushing in his ears. As he gasped for breath, he managed to roll onto his back, trying to absorb what just happened—trying to figure out where he was.

Because he was not on the ship anymore.

Slowly, he managed to convince the rest of his body to cooperate, so he could get up, albeit on shaky legs, leaning heavy against the brick wall.

Wait.

Brick… Wall.

There were no brick walls in Neverland.

He stumbled forward, pressing his hand against his chest hard—it was still burning—walking down the all-too-familiar road to the town center.

He choked when he stumbled onto Main Street, freezing on the sidewalk as he watched people move around without a care in the world. His eyes were drawn to the bright neon sign that flashed in the darkening evening, and he tried to process what happened—Storybrooke.

He was in Storybrooke.

How did he—

What—

“Killian?”

He turned on his heel, his eyes widening as Alli rushed towards him, practically leaping in his arms as she hugged him tightly.

He was… Confused.

He liked Alli, but he had never been close enough to her to warrant such a greeting upon his return—a return he was not even sure of.

He didn’t know how he did it.

Tentatively, he hugged her back, patting her back awkwardly as she sobbed, ‘Oh thank God, you’re back,’ over and over again.

And as he stood there, it hit him.

He was back.

He was home—in Storybrooke.

Emma.

Henry.

He needed to go see them—he needed to go see Emma.

Now.

He pushed Alli back—not overly concerned with hurting her feelings; he was sure she’d understand his impatience to see Emma again—and turned back to where he had seen Granny’s Diner. “I need to see Emma,” he said, feeling almost as though he was in a trance as he began moving towards the diner, “How long was I gone?”

He barely noticed Alli tugging on his jacket sleeve, trying to stop him from heading to the diner as she replied, “Nearly six months, but Killian, stop—I need to tell you something first—”

But he didn’t listen.

There she was.

His beautiful Swan.

She stood with her back turned towards him and Alli, waiting for someone—Henry, he assumed—by the diner’s door.

He wanted to call out to her, but decided against it—it would be so much sweeter if he could sneak up on her, wrap his arms around her and surprise her.

He was so close.

And then she turned, a smile on her lips, and he froze.

He stared at her, his heart shattering as he watched her welcome Bae into her arms, pressing a kiss to his lips as his hand ghosted over her swollen stomach that peaked from beneath her coat.

No.

He barely heard Alli as his knees gave away, crashing onto the cold, hard asphalt, his breath still caught somewhere in his lungs.

All he could focus on was Emma.

She was pregnant.

She didn’t wait for him.

He lost her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Killian**

Time passed in a sudden blurry haze of activity—and he didn’t care anymore.

Not about anything.

How could he have been so wrong?

He had truly believed Emma loved him as much as he did her—he had believed that she was the one he would always be able to trust.

That he would always have her, and that he could trust her love.

He didn’t respond to Alli, who was insistently chattering in his ear, pulling on his arm—presumably to get him off the street—, and focused on the sight before him.

The more he looked, the more he was convinced that it just _didn’t_ seem right.

Something didn’t fit.

Emma didn’t look right—there was something different about her; not counting the huge baby bump. He winced at that once again. She was pregnant—she had to have let another touch her—another had touched what was his and it made him want to kill.

“Killian, listen to me! Please!” Alli’s voice pulled him from his thoughts once again, and he lashed out—he simply wanted to be left alone.

He just needed to process this loss.

Because he didn’t know how to deal with losing Emma.

The pieces of his shattered heart felt like they had penetrated his lungs, taking away his ability to simply _breathe_ and he couldn’t—he _couldn’t_ deal with this. After everything he had gone through in the past weeks—months, according to Alli—he had only desired to be reunited with his family.

A family he no longer had.

He shoved her back harshly, swaying his hook at her to keep her at a safe distance. “She said she would wait,” he choked, his eyes blurring with unshed tears—and he didn’t care that it was to ruin his reputation.

He just lost Emma.

Nothing else mattered anymore.

“She promised she’d be waiting,” he repeated, his voice broken, soft, “Why didn’t she wait for me?”

Alli was now holding her hands up—almost as though she meant to show him surrender—her lower lip trembling as she whispered, “She did. She did wait—Killian, you need to listen to me. This isn’t—”

“No!” He bellowed, swinging his hook at her, “Just leave! Leave me be!” He was raging, and he was certain he was attracting a crowd, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Dad!”

That cry stopped him dead in his tracks, the wind cold on his face—for the first time, he realized he had been crying—as he stared at Henry’s wide, fearful, yet overwhelmingly hopeful eyes. “Henry,” he breathed, falling to his knees, his arms opening just in time to catch the boy when he flung himself into his embrace.

He ignored Alli and Regina—there was a sight he never thought he’d see, considering Regina had killed Alli’s Love—and wrapped his arms around Henry tightly, holding onto him for dear life. Gods, he had missed him—he had missed his boy.

“I missed you, dad,” Henry whimpered in his ear, “We needed you home. Something’s wrong with mom.”

Killian winced, closing his eyes briefly. “Lad, she chose your father, it’s he—” Henry pulled away, shaking his head furiously. “No, no! She’s cursed! She doesn’t remember that she loves us—she’s cursed!” Killian swallowed back tears at the lad’s willingness to believe the worst of his mother for choosing his father.

“Henry, lad,” he said slowly, his voice weak and shaking, “She loves anoth—“

“No!” Henry cried, pulling away from him, “No, tell him,” he turned to Alli and Regina, “Tell him! We all know it’s true! He cursed her!” And though he knew it was stupid to believe Henry—the lad hated his birth father for what he had done to Emma—but he couldn’t diminish the tiny spark of hope that flared up in his heart.

Alli walked over to them slowly, and for the first time, he saw the tears that shone in her eyes as she tried to smile at him. “It’s true,” she whispered, “It’s true, Killian. She’s not in love with him—not truly. He made her forget—she doesn’t remember loving anyone else.”

“Why?” He choked, a huge lump constricting his airways. Alli shook her head, a single tear running down her cheek. “Not here. Come—we’ll go to Snow and Charming’s. They’re waiting for us.” He wanted to protest, wanted to ask about Emma being pregnant, but Henry was pulling on his sleeve, and he just needed to follow his boy.

As he moved to follow Henry and the Queen, Alli’s hand on his wrist stopped him. She smiled weakly at him, chewing on her lower lip. “She didn’t betray you, Killian,” she finally whispered, “He hasn’t touched her.”

He pulls his hand away with a pained moan and spat, “She’s pregnant, Alli. That looks like he touched her to me.” Alli shook her head at him, and he wanted to slap her up the head for being so stubborn, when she smiled and dropped the bombshell.

“She’s seven and a half months along, Killian.”

He honestly did not want to hear how long it had taken her to fall into another’s bed. “So?”

Alli smiled broadly at him. “You were only gone for six months.”

It took a moment for the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

Then—

Bloody hell.

.

.

.

**Emma**

**_(Five months prior)_ **

_She woke with the delicious smell of fresh soup hanging in the air. She blinked confusedly, for Henry was with Regina for another week—they’d both agreed that, with Emma’s recent, forced involvement with Neal, he’d be safer with Regina, far away from all of it._

_Snow had left her alone last night at midnight—finally. She knew her mother was worried, but honestly, she was hovering, and Emma was getting tired of it._

_She had been feeling feverish for a few days, throwing up and being bedridden—she hated the flu. Even though it had given her good cause to postpone her ‘date’ with Neal for another few days—she just really didn’t want to go there, and she’d studiously been trying to find one excuse after another to postpone it._

_Stretching, she sat up, glancing around the room._

_She was still confused—who the hell was in her apartment?_

Guess there’s only one way to find out _, she thought, getting up, pulling on a fluffy, warm vest. As she opened the door, she was surprised by the vision of her new best friend—and quite honestly, the only best friend she’d ever had—, sitting on her couch, drinking a cup of hot coffee._

_Her eyes traveled to the kitchen, finding a large pot of hot soup with a bowl all ready for her._

_“Alli?” she whispered, surprised at how hoarse her voice sounded. “Alli, what are you doing here?” she asked, slightly thrown off by the bright smile that appeared on Alli’s face as she turned to look at her. “You’ve been hibernating long enough. I thought I’d come be the awesome friend that I am and bring you some of the stuff you need,” she said, getting up and walking into the kitchen to get her the soup._

_She supposed it made sense—Alli had been a really good friend in the past few weeks, comforting her when she broke down over how much it hurt to miss Killian, over how much she hated Neal and Gold for doing this to her, over how she hoped Killian would never give into Milah’s advances while he was away._

_She bit her lip and made her way to the couch, sitting down cross-legged, running a hand through her messy, uncombed hair, before tying it into a messy knot on top her head. “Not that I’m not glad to see you,” she frowned, “But how the hell did you get in?”_

_Alli  grinned at her, handed her the soup and a spoon and sat down next to her. “Come on, Emma. I know how to pick a lock.” Emma choked a laugh and stared at Alli in disbelief—she knew Alli had rough edges and could be quite mischievous at times, but she didn’t look it at all._

_She just couldn’t picture it._

_Alli must have noticed her expression, because she snorted a laugh and shook her head. “I know where you keep your spare key, Emma. Just eat your soup, and drink lots of water, so we can get to the really exciting part of this.”_

_Emma didn’t register the last part of the sentence at first, completely distracted by the taste of the soup. It was the richest, sweetest, most addictive soup she had ever tasted. “Damn,” she hissed under her breath, “Did you make this?” Alli bit her lip and shook her head._

_“No. Of course not. It’s Granny’s. She told me to tell you to get better soon and get your ass out there again. Her cocoa sales have been dropping.” Emma smirked, shaking her head lightly as she sipped the soup again, nearly moaning at how good it felt to eat something she didn’t want to throw up again instantly._

_“So, how are you feeling?” She asked, wincing sympathetically when Emma flinched. “You know…” Emma drawled, setting the bowl down on the table and leaning back into the soft cushions of the couch, “I’m getting really tired of that question.”_

_Alli nodded. “I know, Ems. I’m sorry—but I’m really am worried.” She frowned. “You’ve been getting sick a lot in the past few weeks.” Emma shrugs noncommittally, biting her lip. “I feel kinda disgusting right now. And tired.” She sighed again, “I’m so tired.”_

_For some strange, inexplicable reason, Alli’s features lit up with an unexpected, delighted smile._

_Emma frowned. “Why are you smiling?” She pouted at her friend. “I feel awful.”  Alli raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Emma... You can’t tell me you don’t see the symptoms...”_

_Emma thought about what she said for a moment, the meaning of her words not fully sinking in at first. When they did, however, her heart seemed to skip several beats at once, and she was strangely breathless all of a sudden. Her—undoubtedly—stunned gaze met Alli’s twinkling eyes._

_“No,” she breathed, “No way. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. No.”_

_Alli giggled and clapped her hands excitedly, and before long, Emma found herself giggling along at her enthusiasm._

_The idea of being..._

_It was ... Dumbfounding. Especially because this time... This time, though not planned, the child would have been conceived out of love—True Love. Not that Henry hadn’t been conceived out of love—because innocent and stupid as she might’ve been, she had loved Neal._

_But this, if it were happening, it would be so different._

_And then, not at all._

_She would have to take the test on her own again._

_She would be all alone in this again._

_Absent-mindedly, her hand drifted down to her stomach, pressing against the scar Henry’s birth had left her._

_Could it be true?_

_Could Killian have left her with a gift like this?_

_Because that’s what it would be—a gift. Even if she had to do this alone again._

_Alli grinned at her expression. “Come on,” she grinned, “Let’s see if you have a bun in the oven.”_

_“Wait,” Emma exclaimed, her stomach churning, her emotions all over the place, as her best friend dragged her into the bathroom, “I don’t have any tests here!”_

_Alli smiled mischievously and winked, pulling a rectangular box from behind her back. When Emma just gaped at her, she rolled her eyes and explained, “Snow and I had  a suspicion. I just thought ahead.”_

_For a moment, she wanted to be angry—but then a mix excitement and fear settled in the pit of her stomach. “Oh my God,” she breathed, “I’m really doing this, aren’t I?” Alli grinned, pushed the test in her hand and nodded vigorously, “Yes, you are, so get to it! I want to know if I am going to be an aunt!”_

_Emma stared at her for a moment, her still-sleepy and exhausted mind desperately trying to keep up with all of the day’s revelations so far, her fist clenching around the box. “Hang on.. Even if I am—” she broke off and shook her head, “Who says you get to be an aunt?”_

_Alli smirked at Emma. “Oh please, we both know that your kid is going to love me—Henry does, doesn’t he?” Emma grinned. “Actually, I think Henry has a thing for your daughter, not you,” she replied, winking at her friend’s eye roll._

_“You know what I mean,” Alli drawled in mock-annoyance, “I’ll get to be the cool, fun, eternally single aunt who gets them the best presents. I’m gonna spoil your kid rotten.” She rolled her eyes at Emma, as though her answer had been perfectly logical—which, she supposed, it was—and hopped onto the bathroom counter, biting her lip, gazing at Emma expectantly._

_Emma glanced down at the test again, her insecurity roaring its ugly head again—she’d been here before; she’d sworn she’d never go back here, and yet, here she was… All alone, about to take a pregnancy test for a baby with an MIA-daddy._

_Before she could stop herself, tears pooled in her eyes again, and she felt as though her heart was breaking all over again, because she couldn’t do this on her own. She’d barely made it through last time—and this would be worse; because there was no way she would ever be strong enough to give up Killian’s baby._

_“Emma?” Alli’s voice broke through her pained, confused haze, but didn’t do anything to soothe her. “I can’t,” she breathed, “I don’t think I can—” Anxiety was wreaking through her body, and she couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that she had been stupid enough to get herself knocked up again._

_She wasn’t going to put herself through this again—she ignored Alli and shook her head—maybe she could…_

_Get an abortion or something._

_She sank down, onto the cold, tiled floor and dry-heaved above the toilet a few times; she didn’t want to be in this position again; she couldn’t do this all over again._

_She couldn’t be pregnant._

_“Emma,” Alli whispered, her hands suddenly resting lightly on Emma’s shaking shoulders, “Emma, honey, it’s going to be okay.”_

_“No,” Emma moaned, her stomach flipping over and over again, “No. It should be him, not you. I can’t do this without him.” Alli winced sympathetically and rubbed her back, whispering, “I know, Ems, I know. But he’s coming back for you. You know that. He’s coming back—that’s all that matters. Now, you need to take that test.”_

_Emma leaned her head against the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl and shook her head. “No—I don’t want to do this alone; I can’t do this alone again.”_

_“You’re not alone,” Alli whispered, “You have me, and Henry, and Elena and your parents and so many others—we are all here for you, Emma. And when Killian comes back, he will be too. He will love you and your baby.”_

_Emma nodded slowly and got up, as Alli walked back to the counter, hopping onto it as Emma took the test, biting her lip in nervous anticipation. When she was done, she set the test on a piece of toilet paper on the counter and washed her hands._

_“How long do we have to wait?” she asked Alli, who was studying the box intently. “Three minutes,” she replied._

_Emma huffed in annoyance. She didn’t remember three minutes feeling like an eternity before, but apparently, pregnancy hormones did that to time._

_Damn. She sagged against the door and studied her hands, trying to fend off negative thoughts._

_She loved Killian, and she was confident he loved her as much as she loved him, but she wasn’t sure they were ready for another child. Henry was a sweetheart, mostly, but he was used to being an only child—he’d always been spoiled accordingly._

_She didn’t know how her son would handle a brother or sister._

_She didn’t even know how Killian would react._

_Would he think it was too soon? Would he think she was trying to trap him into something? Would he stay? Would he propose?_

_She sighed and rested her head against the wall._

_So much to think about..._

_“Are the three minutes up?” Emma asked after another moment, chewing on her lip nervously._

_Alli glanced at her watch and then nodded. “Yeah...” Emma groaned and closed her eyes, feeling nausea creep up on her once again._

_“Can you look for me?” She whispered, gazing at her best friend intently. Alli just smiled and nodded, somehow understanding she just didn’t have the strength to do this herself._

_Slowly, she picked up the test and looked at the result. Her face was perfectly arranged, and she couldn’t read her at all._

_Damn it._

_“Well?” Emma whispered. “What does it say?”_

_Alli lifted her eyes to meet Emma, and for a split-second, Emma felt as though her heart had stopped, before Alli leapt off the counter and barreled into her, squealing, “You’re having a baby! You’re having a baby!”_

_Well._

_Apparently, she was having a baby._

.

.

.

**Alli**

**_(Present, Snow & Charming’s house)_ **

She watched, concerned, as Killian stared ahead numbly, taking in everything they had told him so far. When he had asked her if she was sure that the baby was his, she had told him about the day they’d found out—which was, coincidently, only two days before Emma was cursed.

“How did he do it?” The pale pirate finally choked, “How did he manage to place a curse that powerful on her?” He turned to Regina—who was only here because Henry had asked her to help—and frowned. “You needed to sacrifice what you loved most to enact this curse. To take away her memories… To use a spell like this… It is not without a heavy price.”

Regina stood, tall and unmoved by the table, glaring at Snow. “You’re right—but the spell he used on Miss Swan is quite different. It is a mix of many potent magical ingredients; something quite unlike anything I have ever seen before. It is not truly a curse, therefore it does not call for a sacrifice—it brought back Miss Swan’s latent feelings for him. She is practically reliving the months she spent with him—from meeting to falling in love to heartbreak.” She redirected her gaze to Killian, and Alli would have sworn her eyes softened somewhat.

“Every ounce of love she felt for others has been erased from her memory—her parents, Henry, _you_. She simply does not remember.” She clasped her hands before her and shook her head. “We can’t break it—because it’s such a mix, there’s simply no telling what _is_ the trigger to bring her back. All we could do was research and hope, while we waited for you to return.”

Killian—still extremely pale—leaned forward, clasping his hook in his good hand, his elbows leaning on his upper legs. “How can I break it? True Love’s kiss won’t work if she doesn’t remember me.”

Alli winced—because he was right.

It wouldn’t.

And it would kill Killian if he tried to kiss Emma and she would push him away.

“He’s right,” she piped in, “How will it work? And how will we keep Neal away from her for long enough? He never leaves her side anymore.”

“Well, we can say that we want to see her,” Snow interjected, looking back at Charming, “He can’t stop us from seeing our daughter.”

Killian frowned. “I thought she didn’t remember you being her parents?”

Regina shook her head, sighing exasperatedly. “We believe her pregnancy has altered the curse somewhat—the baby is, like she is, the Product of True Love. It causes the curse to slip at times. She remembers who we are—all of us. She doesn’t remember that she cared for anyone but Neal.”

Alli watched, with a sympathetic wince, as Killian groaned and rubbed his hand over his forehead. “So, she’ll remember who I am, but she won’t remember that she loves me?” He looked up, his eyes pained and sorrowful, “That still won’t help me get her back.”

Regina finally moved, sitting down on the seat across from Killian stiffly, with what Alli supposed was her version of an encouraging smile. “The curse didn’t erase her feelings—only the memory of  them. The love is still there. It’s suppressed and hidden in a dark corner of her mind, but it’s not gone. Unlike the potion you,” she turned to Snow, “drank, it didn’t erase the memory of you, Captain. She knows, logically, that she was with you, and that she loved you. She doesn’t feel it anymore. True Love’s kiss should be able to break a spell like that.”

Killian merely shook his head, and got to his feet, leaving the room—Alli sighed, but she understood. He’d only just made it back from God knows where, only to find the woman he loved in the arms of another.

Sure, she wasn’t there because she wanted to be, but she understood how it had to hurt him.

Snow caught her eye, and she knew Emma’s mother understood Killian as well as she did. “Where’s he going?” Charming exclaimed, “He can’t just walk away! He needs to help Emma!”

Alli shook her head. “He will. Give him a moment. He just fell from one world into another, learned that his True Love was cursed and that True Love’s kiss _might_ work. He’s just going to see Henry.” She looked over her shoulder to the long corridor that led to Henry’s bedroom here—he and Elena had been holed up in there since they got here.

She leaned forward and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s a lot to take in.” Regina stood once again, shaking her head. “Well, he will just have to man up—I want that man out of my son’s life, and Miss Swan’s _unfortunate_ spell-related infatuation makes that impossible.”

Snow bristled and Alli closed her eyes, sighing in exasperation. “Stop it,” she spat, “Both of you. This isn’t about what we want—it’s about Killian and Emma and Henry. All of you need to stop making it about you.” She glared at Snow and Charming, who both looked rightfully contrite, before standing up to glare at Regina.

“And you—” She spat, “I lost my husband because of you—my True Love _died_ because you were selfish with Henry; because you were being petty—, my daughter is never going to know her father, and I’ll be damned if I let you take my best friend too.”

Regina paled suddenly, and Alli swallowed thickly—she knew it.

It _had_ been Regina.

Slowly, Regina nodded. “I am sorry for what happened with Graham,” she whispered, and Alli almost believed her— _almost_ —, “I was fond of him; I didn’t mean for it to end like that.”

Alli shook her head.

She didn’t want Regina’s empty apologies; she wanted Emma to have the chance to live her life with her True Love—she wanted her friend to at least have that. “Just make sure we can help Emma,” she said, “And Killian. You owe all of us—and you owe Henry most of all. He loves both of them. Just help us get to Emma, so  we can break this damn curse.”

“Very well,” she jumped when Killian’s voice rang out from behind her, “How do you want to do this?”

.

.

.

**Killian**

The next morning, he found himself in a situation he briefly thought he would never see again. Emma had come by bright and early to get her breakfast at her parents’ house, as they had requested, yesterday, claiming they missed her and wanted to see her again.

She had, after convincing Neal, conceded to having breakfast—and their plan was set into motion.

Snow and Charming retreated after a few minutes, claiming Snow had to get to the school, and that Charming had to drive her; miraculously, Emma didn’t oppose to staying behind—to finishing her breakfast with him.

He would walk in halfway through breakfast and strike up a conversation with Emma; which he hoped would not be too difficult;  and it wasn’t.

They fell back into old patterns easily, and if she hadn’t been wearing bright red lipstick and a dress—his Swan looked wrong in a dress like that; it just didn’t seem right—he would have believed things were the way they had always been.

He was cautious though—he did not feel like losing her all over again right away because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, or because he would say something alarming—soon though, they were laughing and joking around again, like nothing had ever changed.

And that was how he found himself grinning uncontrollably at the girl who held his heart in the palm of her hand, trying extremely hard not to burst into laughter at her indignant expression.

“How can you say that?” She exclaimed, “It doesn’t make any sense!”

He rolled his eyes at her and sipped from his cup. “That’s what you say. I’ll have you know that many other fine sailors agree with me.”

She shuddered and shook her head. “I just don’t see it. Sailing is a risky business, sure, but being a bail bonds person is just as dangerous—we have to actually catch the bad guys. I don’t see how the sea can be so dangerous, or how sailing is that complicated.”

Killian rolled his eyes—she was being utterly predictable once again. “Please,” he smirked, “The sea is a dangerous place, darling—more dangerous than any bad guy, as you say. Many a men have lost their lives to her whimsical nature,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her, “it is not something for the faint-hearted.”

She crinkled her nose in confusion—the move was so familiar and adorable, he had to look away—it reminded him too much of things he  could not have; not yet anyway. “How so?” She asked, leaning onto the counter, smirking at him—daring him to give her the real answer.

He shrugged lightly. “Out there, in the midst of a storm, it’s every man for himself, love. We cannot afford to lose many good men to save one. It’s not a decision anyone could make.”

Emma fell silent for a moment, as did he, contemplating what he had just said—he hadn’t meant for the statement to be so emotionally charged, nor had he intended to upset her with his comment—but she had demanded the truth from him, and that was what he had given her.

She had not yet brought up what she remembered about him, though she had remembered his name when he walked in—Killian wasn’t all too sure about Emma, but he was all for avoiding their issues for just a little bit longer.

He hated putting things off—he loathed avoiding things—but right here, all he wanted was to avoid talking to Emma about their past.

He did not wish to hear how dispassionate she would speak of it.

He was not sure if he would be able to handle that.

Emma’s phone rang, interrupting them—and he did not miss her sudden scowl as she picked up. “Hey Neal,” she sighed, running her fingers through her long unusually straight hair. He watched as she rolled her eyes at whatever the imp said, sighing, “Well, too bad. I’m having breakfast with my parents—you know that.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, “Fine. I’ll be home soon. Yeah. Love you too.”

He barely managed to keep himself from breaking when she uttered those words—it cut him, to hear her speak those words, even though he knew she didn’t truly mean them, to anyone else but him or Henry.

He smiled at her when she hung up though, trying to keep up his charade.

 _Just a little bit longer_ , he chanted internally, _just a little bit._

“I’m sorry,” she smiled, “I have to go—he gets antsy without me.” Killian resisted the urge to call Bae every name under the sun and nodded with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Of course. Why don’t I—” he rose from his seat as she did, watching her slip into her jacket slowly, “Walk you home?”

Emma shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t have to. It’s like a five minute walk if I walk through the docks.”

Killian grinned at her and offered her an arm. “A compromise then—you walk me to my ship; it’s right on your way.” Emma giggled, slipping her arm through his, and nodded. “If you insist,” she conceded, “I can live with that.”

They exited the house, and immediately, Killian’s thoughts trailed off—the plan hadn’t specified how he had to get her to kiss him; only that they needed be alone, so no one could interrupt them.

Alli was waiting by Leroy’s boat; he only had a small timeframe.

“So,” he began slowly, as they slowly but steadily walked down the docks, “Are you excited?” When she looked confused, he gestured to her stomach, and she dropped one hand to the top of her belly immediately. “Oh,” she smiled softly, “Yeah, of course. But it’s scary too, you know? I don’t know how to be a good mom.”

He drew her to a stop lightly, raising his hand to stroke her cheek lightly—almost without being aware of doing it. “You will be a wonderful mother,” he breathed, staring into her eyes, willing himself to see a glimpse of _his_ Emma.

He knew she was in there.

“Thank you,” she breathed back, her voice soft and hoarse—and then it registered how close he was standing to her; and how she wasn’t stopping him. He had been so busy worrying about how to get her this far, he had simply not noticed that he didn’t have to—they slipped into the position easily, naturally.

He could feel her breath on his lips, and it nearly drove him insane.

 _Kiss her!_ A voice in his head screamed as he continued to stare into her eyes, being completely drawn in by her forest green orbs. _Kiss her before it’s too late, you idiot!_

He leaned in slowly, keeping their eyes locked the entire time, because he was sure she would push him away if he so much as blinked, their lips barely brushing when he dimly registered someone yelling Emma’s name.

She blinked, breaking the haze as they both turned to see Bae running towards them—guilt flooded her face and he could feel her slipping away.

No.

No, he was not losing her this easily.

Before she could turn away fully, he hooked her wrist and spun her back against him, cupping her cheek as she sputtered “What are you doing?” indignantly. “I’m loving you,” he replied softly, and before she could do so much as blink, smashed his lips onto hers.

.

.

.

**Emma**

Something sparked deep inside of her, warming her from the core until it radiated out, meshing with the heat that radiated from Killian and expanding around them. She broke the kiss, slightly dazed, and looked around, gaping when she saw the air around them sparkle, rippling as though they had caused a wave.

She turned to stare at Killian, still not entirely sure what had just happened—it didn’t even register that he was back.

He came back.

“Emma?” He whispered, his eyes wide—he looked so vulnerable; more than she had ever seen him look before.

“Killian,” she breathed, shaking. She blinked once, twice, and again. Her eyes had been open when he kissed her, but it was as if she had been abruptly broken out of a day dream—something tangible and real,  but just beyond her reach.

She was snapped, once again, from her thoughts by a frantic yell and she turned in Killian’s arms, her jaw dropping when her eyes fell upon Neal—he was on his knees, looking ruffled, almost like he had been caught in the middle of a whirlwind.

And as she stared at Neal, the fog lifted.

She remembered.

Her knees gave out from underneath her, and she would’ve fallen if not for Killian, who caught her just in time. She turned again, clutching his shirt tightly, holding onto him for dear life—because he was back.

He came back for her.

“You’re here,” she cried against him, breathing in his scent, “You’re here.” She felt him smile against her forehead, nodding lightly. “Aye, love, I am. Of course I am.” She sobbed quietly against him, disgusted with Neal—with herself for being foolish enough to have drank anything he offered her. “You’re back, you’re back, you’re back,” she chanted over and over, before leaning up and crashing her lips onto his again, hungrily taking everything he would give her.

She finally felt right again.

Neither of them noticed how the air around them changed, grew hotter and darker as Rumplestiltskin appeared in a crimson puff of smoke, his expression dark and downright murderous. “Don’t worry, m’boy,” he cackled at Neal, “If you can’t have her, no one can.”

The skin around his hand seemed to crackle with electricity—his eyes were dark and menacing, and the fireball on his hand was meant to kill whatever it touched.

He drew it out for one moment longer, waiting until he was certain the Swan girl wouldn’t see him coming—and then threw the fireball.

 It was as though the world exploded.

Killian and Emma were blown off their feet by the power of the collision, both stunned into speechlessness as they watched Alli stumble to her feet, her palms glowing in the same deep purple as the shield before them—the shield that was keeping one of Gold’s fireballs from reaching them.

“Alli?” Emma choked, her hands splayed protectively on her stomach—Alli didn’t use magic.

She couldn’t.

Right?

“My name is not Alli,” she replied, her voice sounding oddly… different—like it was an echo. Emma swallowed thickly, tightening her grip on Killian’s hand when the puzzle pieces fell into place.

The necklace—Penelope’s ring.

Elena.

It finally made sense.

“Penelope?” Killian’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the loud roar of the fireball trying to burn through the shield, but they all heard it.

Alli turned, looking at them over her shoulder, her long dark hair blowing around her face as she smiled softly.

“Hello Papa… I finally found the ocean.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

It was odd to consider how deafening silence could be—even though there was no complete silence. The roar of the fire was ever-present, as much as the silent hum of power and magic in the air. It was the complete and utterly stunned silence between the three people at the safe side of the shield that felt deafening.

The pirate stared, his mouth hanging open as he attempted to grasp the words that had just been spoken.

She found the ocean.

She was Penelope—his True Love’s best friend was his daughter.

What—how—

Emma grabbed hold of his hand, trying to process the events that had led up to this moment; the events of the past hour; the past few months.

She was pregnant.

Killian was back.

Milah was… Well, she wasn’t here.

And Alli… Alli was Penelope.

“How could I not have known?” Killian moaned in aggravation—Emma winced at the pain and disbelief in his voice. She shared his astonishment, and she could see the agonizing guilt on his handsome features—even though he could not blame himself for not knowing; even Alli—Penelope—herself had not known.

“You couldn’t have,” Alli—Penelope, damn it—spat, turning to glare at a nearly purple-faced Rumpelstiltskin, “He designed the curse that way. He didn’t want me to know who I was, not even when Regina’s curse was broken.”

“What curse?” Killian exclaimed, feeling slightly unhinged. “And how was it broken in the first place?” She turned around again, facing him with a gentle smile. “You kissed Emma—and the baby. It’s True Love’s kiss, but more powerful than any other before. It broke _all_ residing curses, including mine.” Rumpelstiltskin hissed, almost like a furious cat, and tried to break through the shield once again, as Neal cowered on the ground, like the vermin he was.

Emma’s rage flared up as her eyes fell upon him, pouring red-hot through her veins. “You sick bastard!” She screamed, only being held back by Killian’s hand in hers. “You cursed me? How did you think that was going to help your fucking case?” She ignored the sudden ache that coursed through her lower abdomen, her glare fixed on Neal, who was scrambling to get to his feet.

She hadn’t realized she’d been moving closer to the shield until Alli—Penelope!—grabbed her hand and pulled her back a little.

She hadn’t even realized Killian had let go of her.

“Calm down, Emma,” Alli said softly, “Think about the baby. Too much stress isn’t good for the baby.” Before she could yell at Alli for interrupting her, she felt Killian’s arms wrap around her—and she melted into his touch, still not paying attention to the slight twinges of pain in her stomach.

He had just received the shock of his life, and he was still comforting _her_ , when she should be the one to comfort him, to hold him while he tried to recover from the things he’d been put through in the past few months—hell, in the past few days!

“You’re Penelope,” Emma breathed, staring at her friend, the reality of it just now sinking in—but she could see the truth; she finally placed the familiarity of Alli’s blue eyes; the familiar way she grinned. “You’re really her.” She felt Killian stiffen slightly behind her and reached for his hand, that was resting on top of her swollen stomach.

Alli looked over her shoulder—at Killian, undoubtedly—and nodded slowly. “I am. Papa,” Emma winced at the emotional, terrified note that entered her voice, “I am so sorry.” As Emma was trying to shake the weirdness of hearing her best friend call her boyfriend—True Love—fiancé?—Papa, Killian himself was desperately struggling to process _everything_.

He found out he was going to be a father again just yesterday, and now, he suddenly found his daughter—and realizing she had been right here all along, that he hadn’t seen it, was killing him. He should have known.

Another deafening explosion startled them all, and both Emma and Killian stumbled back a few paces, blown off balance by the powerful magic that once again collided with Alli’s—Penelope’s, damn it!—shield. Killian gasped, the severity just now setting in as he stared at his daughter. “You can use magic,” he breathed. She smiled weakly at him, nodding—even though they both knew it wasn’t a question.

“The only good thing _he_ ,” she spat, turning to glare at Rumpelstiltskin, “Ever taught me.”

The Crocodile’s high cackle could be heard even through the roar of the fires the collisions had caused, and it sent shivers down all of their backs. “Oh dearie,” he giggled manically, “You were always quite eager to learn _everything_ I wished to teach you.” The innuendo in his words was not lost on anyone, and even Neal glared up at his father with disgust.

“You touched my daughter?” Killian roared, jumping forward, brandishing no weapon other than his hook—but he would carve the Crocodile’s heart out and feed it to him nonetheless; that filthy, cowardly piece of shit had laid hands on _his_ daughter.

“No!” Alli cried, and suddenly, he was trapped in thin air—crushed between four walls; and his mind flashed back to the last time he had been trapped like this—he nearly threw up at the sickening pain the memory caused.

.

.

.

_Before he could move though, Killian found himself trapped in thin air—it was as though he was being crushed between four solid walls; though he was surrounded by nothing but air._

_'Papa!' Penelope cried out, running for him—almost as though she believed she could save him. From the corner of his eye, Killian saw the demon's hand move, but he managed no more than a choked, 'No!' before his daughter disappeared before his eyes in a puff of thick, purple and black smoke._

_'No!' He cried, struggling against the magical bonds that held him tied down. 'You swore you wouldn't harm her! You said we could go free!'_

_'Now, now, dearie,' Rumpelstiltskin snarled, 'I swore no such thing. You asked me not to kill her. I didn't kill her—but you will live with the notion that she has to survive without you; somewhere you will never find her.'_

_Killian's heart—already smashed and broken beyond repair—broke further; anger and resentment boiling up from a dark, evil place inside of him; a place he didn't even know existed._

_._

_._

_._

But the walls were different this time—instead of solid, stone walls trying to crush him, these walls were softer, gentler; holding him in place, but not once hurting him. “Penelope,” he breathed, “Let me go—that monster…” She suddenly stood before him, and he wondered again how he could not have recognized those beautiful, impossibly blue eyes of hers. “He didn’t touch me,” she whispered, “He’s trying to goad you. He wants you to come through the shield.” She raised her hand to touch his cheek, and he nearly cried at her touch; it _was_ her.

He found her.

He finally found her.

The walls holding him in place vanished as he collapsed into her embrace, crying in relief as the weight of the world fell from his shoulders—he felt lighter, like he was free; new. “I’m here, Papa,” she whispered, tears running down her own cheeks as she fell to her knees with him, hugging him tightly—she was never going to let go again.

They had been separated for far too long already.

Neither of them noticed Emma, at first, who approached them on shaky legs, one hand resting on her stomach as her other clenched into a fist nervously. “Um… Guys? I hate to break this up, but…” she winced again and breathed in and out deeply a few times, trying to stay calm.

Panicking wasn’t going to help anyone.

Killian pulled away from the hug and looked up at Emma in concern—he’d heard the pain in her voice and he could read the anxiety and fear in her expression all too easily.

He ignored the Crocodile and his piece of shit son—who were both arguing on the other side of the shield by now—and shot to his feet when Emma cried out, folding over. “Emma!” He shouted, rushing to catch her as her knees buckled beneath her. “Emma, love, what’s going on?”

She breathed out shakily, tears rolling down her cheeks as she choked, “I think the baby’s coming.”

“What?” he choked, “No, no, lass, you’re only seven months along—it’s too soon.” His hand couldn’t be contented by merely holding hers—he kept moving it all over her body, hoping it’d soothe her, that it’d stop her from claiming things like these.

The baby couldn’t be coming.

Not yet.

“Well, she’s fucking coming now!” She yelled, slapping at his hand irritably, “We need to go—now. Killian, she’s coming _now_.” The world slowed to a near stop once again as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to do; he had only witnessed one other birth, and that baby was standing only a few feet away now, all grown up.

He was also quite certain that child birth would be different here than it was in the Enchanted Forest. “Where? Love, what—wait, she? The baby’s a little lass? We’re having a daughter?” Alli—Penelope—took a few steps forward, shaking her head. “Papa, take her to the hospital. Go, it’s okay. I’ll deal with this.”

“No,” he shook his head, because he couldn’t leave Penelope, not now that he’d finally found her, “No, Penny—” His words were cut off as Emma cried out again, clutching at her stomach. “Go!” Penelope ordered, “I’ll meet you there, I’ll bring Snow and Charming and Henry, now go!”

He was torn, but complied—she was right.

Emma needed him.

He helped her up and turned around, hurrying back towards the Charming’s house.

Penelope swallowed as she watched them walk away, desperately wishing that Emma and her Papa and the baby—her baby sister—would be okay. Slowly, she turned around, facing the Dark One; she was still afraid of him; that scared six-year-old girl was still somewhere deep inside of her whenever he’d look at her.

But she was stronger now—and she would _never_ allow him to mess with her family again.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now,” she spat, glaring at him as his son—pathetic excuse of a human; one she was ashamed to admit she was related to at all—scampered, all but running scared.

.

.

.

“Ow! God damn it, this is all your fault, you stupid one-handed, hard-headed pirate!” Emma screeched, nearly crushing his good hand as another contraction hit her. He locked eyes with the Doc over Emma’s head, wincing when she dug her nails into his skin again.

“Okay, Emma,” Whale started slowly, “You’re almost ready. Just a few more inches and you can start pushing.” He emerged from between Emma’s spread legs, and Killian suppressed the urge to punch him in the face, because really, he had nothing to be jealous about—the man was about to help deliver his baby girl, not checking out his Emma.

Emma stared at him before realization finally hit her and she burst  into tears suddenly, catching both men completely off guard. Killian exchanged a panicked glance with the Doc—who fled the room as soon as he could, muttering something about nurses and drugs—before curling his arms around her, pulling her closer and supporting her from behind.

“Shh, darling,” he whispered, “We’re fine, my sweet Swan. We’re okay.” Emma shook her head, and cried, “No! We’re not okay! The baby’s way too early and my best friend is your daughter and the baby’s room isn’t ready yet and I’m not ready for this!” She wiped at her cheeks with an angry gesture, and he chuckled a little despite himself, stroking her swollen stomach gently, trying to get her to relax.

He remembered the hormones during Milah’s pregnancy with Penelope; he was certain Emma was going through the same thing.  “Killian,” she moaned, her head lolling back onto his shoulder, “We’re not ready,” she sniffles, “Nothing’s ready.”

“We will be fine, Emma,” he whispered in her ear, “We’ll work it out. We always do.”

She nodded slowly, and he felt her relax for a moment… And then she arched back up, crying out as her muscles tensed when another contraction hit her. “Oh my God, it hurts so bad!” She cried, squeezing his hand. “I know, love,” he murmured, rubbing circles on her stomach while murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.

She choked and felt more tears roll down her cheeks again as she tried to breathe through the next contraction. She swallowed, leaning back against Killian as he pressed a kiss to her temple. He was being so sweet, and she hated it—because it was all his fault that she was in so much pain right now, and she needed him to know it too.

“God, I hate you,” she sobbed when the contraction wore off, squeezing his hand as hard as she could to punctuate and underline that statement. She felt him chuckle behind her as he muttered, “No you do not. You love me.”

“Not right now, I don’t,” she moaned, rubbing her stomach. “What if she’s not okay? What if our baby’s not okay?” She curled into his chest and gripped his shirt between her fingers, tugging on it lightly—she needed him to be close to her now, and to tell her it was going to be okay.

“She’ll be fine,” he breathed, “she’s ours, lass. The little lass will be fine, just to torment us during her teen years.” Emma let a watery chuckle fall from her lips, nuzzling her nose against his bicep, pulling his arm around her as tightly as she could.

As soon as she did, she felt a—by now— _very_ familiar tightening, and she panted, trying to breathe through it, like Whale had told her too. She crushed his fingers, and her own hand stung a little where she dug her nails into her own skin—this one seemed to be worse and it seemed to drag on too long. “Breathe, sweetheart,” Killian kisses her ear, “Breathe through it.”

“I am breathing,” she wailed, swatting at his hand weakly as he wiped her forehead with a cold washcloth, “This is all your fault!” She relaxed into his chest as the contraction diminished, panting raggedly.

She was already feeling exhausted and she wasn’t even done yet.

“Can you kill me now?” She asked in a small voice, “I don’t think I can do this anymore. I just want to die. It hurts so bad,” she whined, tugging on his sleeve.

“Don’t say that,” he growled in her ear, “Never say that again.”

She pouted at his harsh tone, snuggling into his arms. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling far too emotional and weepy. “Don’t be mad at me.” She felt the tears start burning in her eyes again, and her lower lip started trembling. Killian sighed against her and wrapped his arms around her a little tighter, muttering, “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. I love you.”

“Okay,” she sniffled as Whale enters the room again, with two nurses and her mom in tow. “Mom,” she cried, “I’m so sorry.” She was not sure why she felt the intense need to apologize to everyone she saw, or why she felt _so_ damn emotional, but she guessed it had something to do with the aftermath of the curse.

Snow hurried into the room, taking her daughter’s free hand and squeezing it tightly. “Hi honey,” she smiled weakly and nodded at Killian, seated behind Emma, his eyes wide and slightly panicked—much like her daughter’s. “How are you two doing?” Snow inquired slowly, looking from one to the other, trying to gauge how the couple was dealing with… Well, everything.

“Did you see her?” Killian asked eagerly, both him and Emma turning to face her completely, “Penelope—Alli, I mean,” he stuttered, “And the Crocodile—what happened?” Snow opened her mouth to respond, confusion coloring her features, but Emma’s moan of pain interrupted her, and Whale coached Emma through the contraction as he checked underneath the sheet.

“Okay, Emma,” he smiled, “Time to move to the delivery room. You’re fully dilated.”

“Oh thank God,” Emma whimpered, sinking back against Killian as Whale smiled apologetically at Snow. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I can allow Daddy Pirate in. You should join the rest of the gang in the waiting room.” Killian climbed out of the bed, ignoring Emma’s whines of protest, and laced their fingers together as the two nurses wheeled the bed out to the delivery room.

“You ready, lass?” He breathed, stroking her hair nervously as they move through the sterile white hallways.  “I’m really scared,” she whispered, locking her eyes onto his blue ones, “What if the baby’s not ready?”

He licked his lips nervously and tried to smile at her. “She’ll be okay, lass. She has to be.”

Killian and Whale disappeared once she was rolled into the white delivery room, and one of the nurses—she remembered her; the one who was there the night Gold tried to kill Killian—and that memory brought back so many bad feelings, she started crying again, and she couldn’t stop until Killian was back beside her, squeezing her hand and whispering encouragingly in her ear.

The next contraction felt different, and though she recognized the feeling, she was afraid to actually bear down and push, because she remembered what it felt like and she wasn’t sure she could do it this time.

Another contraction ripped through her and she cried out, grabbing Killian’s and squeezing it hard. “Okay, Emma,” Whale ordered gently, “You can push on the next contraction.” She nodded and swallowed thickly, bearing down as hard as she could.

“Holy shit!” She screeched, tears springing in her eyes—she felt like she was being fucking split in two.

Killian smiled bravely as she squeezed the life out of his fingers, whispering soft words of encouragement in her ear, whispering how much he loved her and how bloody brilliant she was while she fought through the contraction, trying to push and breathe through the pain.

When the contraction finally passed, she collapsed back onto the bed, panting heavily. Killian stroked her sweaty, damp curls from her forehead and pressed a kiss on her lips. “Almost done, love. You’re a marvel, Emma.” He leaned up to look at Whale, who suddenly announced, “Okay, I can see the head. One more big push, Emma.”

“No,” she sobbed, her body as limp as soft noodles, “I can’t anymore, I’m so tired. You can do it, right?” She rolled her head to the side to look at Killian and blinked tiredly. “I did the hard part, you can finish, okay?”

Killian chuckled a little and kissed her forehead. “I can’t pull her out, lass, you need to push one more time. Just one more and we can meet our little girl.” He kissed her, and she suddenly found some residual strength inside of her, bearing down with every ounce of strength she had left, a near guttural scream falling from her lips as she felt the baby’s shoulders slip out, the lights in the room flickering ominously.

Her pelvis felt like it was shattering, and she felt like she was dying—and then, suddenly, the pain dulled, nearly disappeared, and the room is utterly silent for a long moment, and Emma choked, slapping Killian’s arm weakly. “She’s not crying. Why is she not crying?”

Right then, an angry little cry pierced the silence, and everyone in the room breathed out in relief as the blonde nurse smiled at them and held out a squirming little pink bundle to Killian. “Here you go, daddy. Here’s your daughter.” Emma choked a little as she watched Killian take their daughter—she fit in his arms perfectly, and Emma couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks at how _perfect_ they looked.

They were her happy ending.

Whale smiled and exclaimed, “Congratulations. Enjoy, we’ll need to give her a more thorough examination in a minute—she is quite early, and we’ll need to incubate her to make sure her lungs are fully developed and that she stays warm.”

“Hello lass,” Killian whispered, his eyes watery as he looks down on their daughter, “I’m your Papa. You’re just as beautiful and bloody brilliant as your mother, darling.” Emma smiled through her tears, because seeing her rugged pirate crying while holding their daughter was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen.

He smiled at her and leaned down, handing her their daughter slowly, helping her support her head. “She’s so beautiful, Emma.” He kissed her hair, his finger trapped in their daughters little fist, while Emma occupied herself with taking in how their daughter looked and how beautiful she was; she had a head full of dark hair already and an adorable button nose and thin, pink lips and—she gasped when the baby’s eyes fluttered open—Killian’s stunning blue eyes and she was just _perfect_.

“Hi baby,” Emma choked, her voice thick with emotion, “I’m your mommy, and I love you so much, and I promise, your daddy and I are always going to be there for you, no matter what happens.” She felt Killian move next to her. “I am so proud of you,” he whispered, his voice thick and laden with emotion, brushing his lips across her temple, “You did it, lass. You gave us a beautiful daughter.”

She chuckled and hugged their baby close, rocking back and forth a little. “We need a name,” she muttered, stroking their daughter’s pink, chubby cheeks. “I didn’t think of a name.” 

“Cassandra,” he said slowly, his eyes watery and filled with more emotion than she had ever seen before, “It was my mother’s name,” he explained. She looked down at their baby with a soft smile, nodding slowly. “Cassandra Jones. Cassie. Yeah,” she nodded again and looked up at him with a wide grin. “I like it.”

“Jones?” He asked slowly, his lips curling up into that damn infuriating smirk of his.  “Yeah,” she nodded, treading her fingers through his hair to pull him in for a kiss, “Jones. Is that a problem?”

He smirked and shook his head. “Not at all.”

.

.

.

Emma stared at her little girl in the incubator, pouting a little at the many tubes that protruded from Cassie’s little body. She’d sent Killian to the waiting room, to tell her parents the good news and to go get Henry and Alli—Penelope—whatever the hell she was supposed to call her friend now—and whoever else was there.

She sighed and glanced towards the door, her arms heavy and tired. She couldn’t remember being this tired after Henry was born—but then, she couldn’t remember being so emotional during his birth either. She glanced towards her daughter once again, smiling at how utterly beautiful she was—she looked _so_ much like Killian, it wasn’t even funny.

Killian rejected that, of course, and claimed Cassie looked just like her.

Emma grumbled a little and snuggled into her pillow.

Stupid, stubborn pirate.

A soft knock on the door broke her from her thoughts, and she smiled when it swung open slowly, revealing said pirate. “Hello love,” he smiled broadly—she could read the happiness in his eyes, and it made her smile—, “You ready for visitors?”

She grinned a little, knowing he’d unceremoniously kick everyone out if she asked him to—well, everyone except for Henry; she knew the kid had Killian wrapped around his pinky finger. “Yeah,” she nodded, “Sure. Let them in.” She glanced towards the crib where Cassie was sleeping peacefully. “She’s asleep though.” 

 Killian walked inside, heading straight for the crib, examining their daughter eagerly as her mother, Henry, Alli and Elena filed in after him. “Hey guys,” she said softly, smiling when Henry  rushed to Killian’s side to look at his little sister. “She’s so tiny!” He exclaimed, tugging on Killian’s arm excitedly as he bounced up and down. “Is she okay?”

“Aye lad,” Killian nodded, “She’s fine—she’s just not completely ready.” They watched as she squirmed a little and yawned, her tiny mouth opening in a perfectly round ‘o’.

“Oh, Emma,” Snow cooed, “She’s adorable!” Emma smiled at her mother, nodding slowly, warm, fuzzy sparks spreading through her body when Killian took her outstretched and allowed her to pull him to her side.

He settled on the edge of her bed, their fingers entwined. “Hey,” Emma frowned lightly, “Where’s Dav—Dad?” She glanced around the room, as though she expected him to suddenly jump out from behind someone to surprise her.

Snow smiled confusedly and pointed over her shoulder. “He went to get Darlan from Ruby. She’s been babysitting since Killian came back, I missed him.” She pouted a little and twirled her ring on her finger as she glanced towards the door herself, half-expecting her husband to come barreling through the door.

Killian was drawn from his blissful staring at his beautiful daughter at those words, and frowned at her. “What do I have to do with it? I don’t even bloody know who Darlan is!” Emma frowned too, looking from her mother to Killian and back. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “Somehow, I’m not sure either. I mean…” she shook her head a little, “It sounds familiar, but everything is still so foggy and messed up—that curse really messed with my mind.”

Snow blanched and slapped her hand to her forehead. “Of course,” she mumbled, “You left before I started showing.” Something in Emma’s mind clicked, like a fog that lifted, and it hit her like a ton of bricks, and she gasped.

“Oh my God.”

.

.

.

_“I know it's probably stupid to tell you now,” Snow sighed and shook her head, “we're having a party to announce the news anyway, but I thought I'd tell you first. I want to tell you like this, in person.” She gently patted the spot next to her, and Emma sighed as she plopped down next to her, her fingers already back to fumbling with the necklace as she waited for Snow to gather her thoughts and tell her whatever it was she seemed so eager to tell her._

_She briefly wondered if it was something she should be worried about, but then discarded that thought—Snow wouldn't have lingered in telling her if that were the case. And she most certainly wouldn't be throwing a party at Granny's._

_“Okay,” Snow smiled, taking Emma's hands in hers, “I know the timing is weird and all, and it might be a little awkward—but Charming and I are having a baby.”_

_Emma was momentarily stunned, frozen in place._

_Snow… Baby—she.. What?_

_._

_._

_._

“Oh my God,” Emma repeated, her eyes wide and startled. “The baby. The party,” she squeezed Killian’s hand, “The party before Milah and Gold and Neal showed up—you were pregnant.” Her eyes swept over her mother, and she noticed—only now—that Snow had gained weight, and that she looked different.

Killian’s eyes widened too, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he choked, “You had a child. How could I have forgotten that?” Snow smiled gently, and shook her head. “You both had a lot on  your mind. Darlan’s a sweet little boy, and he looks just like Charming,” she smiled happily, “you can meet him soon. Now, let’s focus on my beautiful granddaughter!”

As she spoke, she wandered back to where the incubator stood and joined her grandson and Elena, who were both cooing at Cassie, who was now awake and staring at her big brother curiously, her sparkling blue eyes wide.

Killian swallowed thickly, shaking his head at himself, settling himself next to Emma a bit more comfortably. “I cannot believe I did not realize she had to have had her child,” he breathed, leaning his head against Emma’s. She chuckled weakly and reached up with her free hand, stroking his cheek. “How do you think I feel? I was actually here.”

“No, you weren’t,” Alli—Penelope—suddenly said, startling the both of them. “You weren’t. It wasn’t really you.” She fidgeted uncomfortably, avoiding Killian’s gaze a little, looking down at her shoes, “I suppose I do owe you an explanation… A story.”  Emma felt Killian stiffen, and winced a little. She squeezed his hand, lifting their entwined fingers and pressing them to her chest. “Yes,” she responded for him, “We’d love to know. What happened? What did he do?”

Alli glanced towards the others, where they were fussing over the baby, before sighing and sinking into the chair by Emma’s bed. “I called Belle,” she said slowly, running her fingers through her hair, “She took Gold and Neal. They’re leaving Storybrooke tonight—Gold’s memory will be retained, but his magic will disappear. He won’t be back to bother us anymore.”

Emma played with Killian’s fingers, glancing towards her daughter and her son briefly as Killian growled, “How is that possible? The Crocodile would not simply leave.”

Alli nodded slowly. “I bound his powers.” When they both gaped at her, she chuckled. “Like he bound mine, all those years ago. It’s a complicated curse… But even the Dark One cannot escape it or deflect it. That’s the reason he bound my powers and erased all of my memories—of everything. I was probably one of the only ones with magic that was strong enough to rival his. He implanted false memories instead, so I wouldn’t remember you, or him, or mom.”

Killian sighed and shook his head. “But how? You did not possess magical powers before. We would have noticed.”

Her voice softened and she glanced to the floor before she continued, “I did. They were dormant—they probably never would have awoken within me if not for Rumpelstiltskin’s meddling. Yours are dormant too—I believe your powers are the reason you were able to return from Neverland on your own. That, and the call of True Love. Emma needed you, so you came.”

Those words were met with naught but stunned silence, and Alli chuckled lightly at the identical stunned expressions on Killian and Emma’s faces. “My mother… Milah… She has some sort of magic in her—I do not know what it is, but it is similar to the power sirens and mermaids possess. It draws people to her. You,” she turned to Killian, “Your mother was a natural witch. Born with her powers—died because of them.” She looked down at her lap and shook her head. “The witch hunts didn’t start here, in this world. They came over from ours. Your mother, my grandmother, was a victim of these hunts. She was executed when you were three. She bound your powers when you were a babe to keep you safe.”

“Penelope,” Killian started, shaking his head lightly, “This is… Insanity. I’m—I’m not—” She smiled gently and nodded. “I know. But they are there. And you passed them on to me. As did Milah. Apparently, it makes for a powerful cocktail of magical powers—which is why my powers were bound. Rumple couldn’t control me; so he simply took me out of the equation.”

Killian opened his mouth once again, but Alli shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “Papa, I _will_ tell you everything. I will. But not now. This is not a day that should be tainted with my sad tale.” She smiled brilliantly and reached for Emma’s free hand, squeezing it tightly. “I have a sister now. Henry has a sister.” She looked up at Killian and added, “We can finally be the family we always wanted to be.”

At that moment, the door opened again, and David came striding in, carrying his son—who looked just like both him and Snow; her hair, his eyes and nose—while booming, “Where’s my granddaughter?”

Emma laughed as she watched everyone flock towards her daughter, cooing and mooning over her, chattering loudly and almost obnoxiously. Killian remained at her side, watching the same scene with a small smile; watching both of his daughters, watching Henry smile…

And for the first time in a very, very long time, he genuinely believed that happy endings existed.

Even for debauched, old, villainous pirates like him.

He leaned down to kiss Emma’s cheek, his heart swelling in his chest as he tried to comprehend how much he truly loved her—for who she was, for who she reminded him he was; for everything she’d given him.

“I love you, lass.”

Emma smiled up at him, running her fingers over his cheek gently. “I love you too, you stupid pirate.”

**The End.**


End file.
